The Awkwardness of Mourning

I cannot know your circumstance. 

I can only hope to not intrude. 

Often the best thing is to be out of the way.

The torrents of it all are ever there. 

A breaker, a respite; that is what is provided. 

The storm is not taken away. You are sheltered.

Death is never opportune, even if a relief. 

A person filled and spilling over with pain.

(I held my grandmother's hand when she passed. 

It was a beautiful and terrible moment, but it was closure. 

After we cried and called and sat dumbly and breathed deeply

We walked towards our cars.

At a hallway intersection I saw the undertaker

Wheeling my grandmother's body on a gurney.

It was a scene I shouldn't have known.

I had already said goodbye.)

Death is unwelcome when the deceased never had a chance to breathe. 

A baby born without a heartbeat.

I do not have the tools to mourn or the words to heal. 

I can be present.

Be here. Get out of the way.
Be here. Get out of the way.

Be close. Be. 

Don't move a muscle.
Don't get up to help.
Don't do. Be.