the death of black

dear emily,

i sang at a funeral for a lovely young woman, and my heart was
broken not just for the devastated family but also for the frail
and hopeless young mourners.  they were slung upon the walls
of the reception area like lifeless tree branches.  their shadowed
eyes were opened in starving hollows.

they were watching us, the middle aged disappointments, and i
could almost hear their accusations. "why are you all acting as
if everything is ok?  where is the adult who can tell us why this
had to happen??   which one of you is going to make us feel
better???"

two distinct suffering cultures.  one in black business suits and
black dresses, the other in skinny black jeans and black spiked
hair.  separated as surely as the east is from the west.

but then i found one familiar young face, and as i approached i
saw her beneath her costume.  as she saw me beneath mine, her
sweet face crumpled, and i held her close.

love,
lea

ps.  "but we know that when we see Him, we shall be like
Him, for we shall see Him as He is."  1 john 3:2