A Tale of Two Funerals

I sat in the BLT sanctuary at the synagogue of my childhood, my brother to my left, my husband to my right. The rabbi offered a few words of introduction and consolation, and then friends and family spoke of Ben Harris, the long-time family friend who died too soon.

We celebrated his life at the synagogue, the one my parents have belonged to for 36 years, the synagogue that no longer resembles the building where I learned my prayers during my single digit years. The place where I chanted those prayers alongside Ben's daughter.

The scale tipped heavily toward death this week.

Ben survived the mother of his children by 11 years. Our parents shared a friendship spanning four decades, the same four decades his daughter and I have been friends.

And then Paige Wycoff's younger brother died. In his 30s. In a car accident.

This event gave me an opportunity to tread in new territory: an LDS house of worship. Surprisingly, the service wasn't very different than Ben's memorial. The church was packed with people supporting a family which had long been active in the community. A bit of prayer. A eulogy that made us laugh and made us cry. A peek into the life of someone who died too young, touched those around him and left seven siblings behind.

I would be lying if I didn't admit that these two events affected my mood this week. I spent more time than usual watching The Pinks sleep and counting my blessings.