<p>Whew. This has been a tough, draining day. The best way to describe it is painfully, painfully sad. First, the funeral. Hundreds of people. It was absolutely packed. And it was so eerily quiet. Usually when there are that many people in there, it is one of the High Holidays and the noise level before services is higher with lots of chatter. This was just… quiet. The young man attended a magnet school and many came to the service (many weariing the balck “remember Sam” tshirts that were printed up yesterday)- A wonderful blend of religions and nationalities, many of whom had probably never set foot in a synagogue before. Someone had made up a large, laminated posterboard of his pictures (also with the “remember Sam” logo in it) and his mom brought the big, signed poster from his bar mitzvah 5 yrs ago. They helped keep ones eyes off the coffin just below. His older brother gave the most poignant speech. Unbelievable. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. The rabbi read words written by his mom, chronicalling his life. The one thing that rung in everyone’s ears was the reference to hearing the words… “failed to survive” from the police.</p>
<p>Then on to the cemetary. A huge processional of cars. Here in the south, people stop their cars and pull over when a funeral procession goes by. Many get our of their cars. this was in the middle of rush hour. Now I understand. What a tribute. Very meaningful. </p>
<p>Then, another brief service, and another tribute by one of his best friends, who happens to live in my neighborhood- a kid whose family I am close with, who I watched grow up. The tradition after the service is to take turns putting a shovel full of dirt in the grave (usually with the shovel upside down, signifying that you don’t want to be doing it). The family was unconsolable. It was so painful. The dad (whose birthday it was on the day his son died) thanked all the kids who came, asked them to drive home safely and SLOW DOWN. I chatted with the rabbi, who commented that although we have unfortunately lost several children, this was the first time he had presided over both the baby naming and the funeral of the same kid. He was barely holding it together. I stayed with him for a while. After all, as we say in the field, who counsels the counselors?</p>
<p>Then, a tradition called sitting shiva at the house. My husband and I brought a huge platter of what are known as black and white cookies (they are sort of like a cross between a cookie and the top of a very large cupcake, covered with 1/2 black and 1/2 white icing), chocolate chip cookies and baby eclairs. Tons of other food, but this platter got lots of compliments and disappeared quickly. It made me feel good. I needed to feel good. Thank you, hungry people. The house was packed, but the weather was spectacular (finally cooled down) so after the service (yes, a third service) people could go out on the porch or on the front stoop. Pictures of Sam were everywhere. You’d look, you’d look over at another friend, and you’d cry. So, 6 hours later, I am home. </p>
<p>Thank you all for your kind words. Now go kiss your kids and tell them to SLOW DOWN. Princedog- I am sorry for your harrowing experience and am glad you are ok. Please, tell your friends to SLOW DOWN, even if they are driving at a reasonable rate of speed. I now have a healthy respect for slow pokes on the road. Maybe I will become one of them. There is nowhere that imortant to be that is worth risking ones life.</p>