Sharing a Mother's Grief

“Don't be ashamed to weep; 'tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.”  - Brian Jacques

Long before the sun rose today, I was awake in my bed trying to come to terms with some sad news I received yesterday.  The twenty-four-year-old son of a former co-worker and dear friend had died.  No one is talking about how he died.  There has been no report of an accident, no report of an illness.  In my mind, the death of a young person with no discussion of cause leads me to the conclusion (though perhaps prematurely) that the death was either a suicide or a drug overdose.  In thinking about it this morning, I realized that part of me wants to process this news as one of those things.  It makes me feel less vulnerable.  Jacob doesn't do drugs or suffer from mental illness so against these things he is most likely safe.  It was my friend Helen who called me yesterday.  I know she was thinking about the same things.  Her son is thirty.  But she also told me about the funeral she attended on Monday for the nineteen-year-old son of a cousin who died in a tragic accident.  There seems to be no way to avoid the sense of vulnerability.

It turns out that the obituary for my friend's son requests donations to a drug and alcohol recovery program.  Perhaps my conclusion wasn't so premature after all.  Tomorrow Helen and I will head to the funeral home to pay our respects.  I'm dreading it.  What can I possibly say to my friend to help her bear this grief?  She is a good mother.  Her husband is a good father.  As far as I can see, they did everything right.  How is it that things turned out so wrong?  How will she continue to exist in this world - to work, to live, to breathe?  There are no words.  There is no salve.  The only course of action I can come up with is to be there.  To hold her.  To cry with her.  To pray for her.  Doesn't seem like enough.