Friday 2 Sept 2005
A.M.

A couple weeks ago I attended the funeral for the father of my very first buddy.

It was in my home town, in the same church where we had the memorial for Mom. Grandma and I walked over and sat in a pew surrounded by the parents of my once-upon-a-time classmates.

It was more difficult to keep my emotions in check this time. I was familiar with all three hymns and so could sing them, as I could not (and wouldn’t have dared because of what singing can do to my self-control), at Mom’s. Two of the hymns happened to be ones that were put on the tape we made for Mom last winter.

Afterward we gathered at the tiny town hall for lunch, and I had the pleasure of talking with the family members after many years of not seeing them. There was no comfort to offer, because I know how they were feeling. You don’t get lifted out of these emotions, you just live (or die inside) through them.

I was on a discussion list about kidney cancer while Mom was sick. There were some 600 members worldwide, both cancer sufferers and their loved ones. A man in the western States also had it, and his wife and I corresponded. He lost his life shortly after Mom went for her ride in that chariot I saw in my meditation. His wife, Linda, sent me the following poem:

The body is not the man or woman;
It is only the clothing of the man or woman.
What we call death is really the laying aside
of a worn-out garment;
And it is no more the end of the man or woman than
It is the end of you when you remove your coat.
Therefore you have not lost your father, mother, husband or wife;
You have only lost sight of the cloak in which you were accustomed to see him or her.
The cloak is gone, but the man or woman who wore it is not;
Surely it is the man or the woman that you love and not the garment.