An invite to celebrate a life I never knew
and I was happy to join in, give thanks
nod, and laugh at old stories of a person
who raised another person, who raised
another person I know. The line
to the casket was long. Senior family members
of the departed greeted the mourners
in a room filled with flowers.
They told stories and hugged one another.
Silent when I approached, other than a mumbled
“Thank you for coming.”
When I reached the end of the line
I angled onto the kneeling bench before the casket,
made the sign of the cross,
a ritual that I forgot I knew and that your family
seemed to appreciate. I found it
a comforting act, to make the cross for a purpose
and at the right time after a lifetime
of not even thinking about it.
Purposeful. In on a secret. Then I left.