I’ve never seen anything like, nor done anything harder than this week’s wake and funeral for my cousin. They came from across the continent, family I hadn’t seen in years, to stand in a line around the block for just a hug or a handshake, a moment’s respects, and then to shuffle off into the night. The crush of mourners at the church, filling the old sanctuary to capacity and swelling beyond had a certain dream-like quality. Surely it wasn’t possible that so many people had come there, too. There is something about Bach, played heavily on the pipe organ that has the power to both raise the human spirit and reveal the depths of human suffering. A child-sized casket, stark against the lush green of grass and trees just beyond and the forlorn sigh of a father who would never again set mortal eyes on his son, is simply more than a just or a righteous God would allow. Time may dim, but will not erase, these days and these feelings of utter helplessness at a loss too terrible to contemplate. My fervent hope is that his parents endure this senseless suffering and find peace in their time.