Deep Breaths

Did you know I hate to cry in public? True story.

I think I'd rather pee in my pants or fart sneeze.

But today at church, as I looked over at Stephanie, whose mother passed away the other day and who had just returned from the funeral home where she was making arrangements, I couldn't help it.

Memories of my visits to the funeral home with Bart and his father, as we picked a casket, an urn, a plot.  Before they were even needed.

The smell of that room full of coffins.

The surreal feelings.

When I saw Stephanie quietly sneak in for the end of sacrament meeting, it was all I could do to sit there quietly and not cry.  (Because crying is weak and I am strong?  I do not know why I do not want to cry)  So, I took deep breaths and ate Ethan's cereal (he wasn't even there but I'd packed a little snack for him anyway).  Even though Ms. Glenda was not my mother, I'd experienced those moments and they all came back.

And felt such sadness.  Not that Ms. Glenda is gone, but because I hated doing all of those grown up things.  It just didn't feel right, or natural, or fair.

Such sadness for Stephanie, having to deal with that right now, as she still has to deal with the daily dealings of children and a home and work.

Such sadness at the world.  Those poor coal miners stuck, alive, and maybe they won't even be rescued in time?

Did you know today is the fifth year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina?

That was devastating people.  My side of our wimpy street didn't even lose power.
Bart's aunt Jane?  Lost her house.  Bart's baby cousin Trevor?  Lost his little frog and every memory of his life up until that point.  And still others?  Lost their lives, their livelihood, their security.

It's not truly real...until it happens to you.  Then it is.  And a room full of "luxury edition" coffins and "value urns" just seems to be too much to bear, even as an unexpected memory in the middle of church as the friends around me sang the intermediate hymn.