All Alone at the Worst Times

Getting into the car to drive my son and myself to a funeral today, I discovered my battery had died. We walked in the heat, and I told him, "I'm glad you're going with me, because the only thing worse than going to a funeral is going alone."

The mother of a former fellow soccer teammate had died recently and we wanted to pay our respects.

We got on a bus, and got out a few blocks later to transfer, and were halfway to the church, when another parent showed up to pick us up. I waved for him to go on, while I returned home.

After all, my daughter was home alone, and not having a working vehicle while living alone is not an option for me. I had to call for help. If it came soon enough I could get to the service a bit late.

Road service never comes quickly. But the man who came remembered having come once before to help me for the same problem. Afterwards, I looked back through receipts and he was right. It was a year and a half ago.

How different my life was then. How many people have died since then; others disappeared from my life. In some ways, it's as if there was an unspoken evacuation, but of course that is not how life works.

Later in the afternoon, as I was trying to find out if the funeral was still going on, the front gate squeaked open, and my son walked in the front door. He looked inconsolably sad.

"I just couldn't stay," he said, looking down. "I was alone, at the back, standing."

I hugged him, and said I understood. After all, I had let him go to a funeral alone. That that is a cardinal sin for a parent, I readily admit. He did have friends there, even his mother, but none of them were within reach, at the particular moment he needed them.

That's how it works. We all may end up being alone at the times we most need someone to be with us. A related tragedy is many people feel much more alone than they are because they can't find a way to ask for help.

As it turns out, in our extended community, there is another funeral tomorrow. "It seems like too many people have died lately," my son said. As he spoke these words, I glanced at the memorial at the telephone pole in front of my house.

Last night, as I went out to after my plants, I saw my dead neighbor's mother, alone, arranging the flowers and lighting the candles. I greeted her and she smiled sadly at me.

"Bless you," is all I could think to say.

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