for Jeff

It's Friday, so I'm wearing jeans.
I decided not to go to Jeff's funeral service today, because I went to the visitation yesterday. I paid my respects, I said my prayers. I cried a little. I said goodbye.

But it's surprisingly hard, today. Everytime I see someone dressed in their funeral best, it's like a slap in the face, telling me "That's right. Death happened here. Don't forget." And lots of people are going, carpooling from the office, right about...now, in fact. I hear them gather, putting on their coats. The office gets quieter.
I'm going to keep working, going to keep moving, going to keep on doing what needs to be done. Because I don't know what else to do.

But it's hard, with this funny little ache that comes and goes, catching me just when I've started to relax.

Logically, I know what to do. Don't stuff your grief, but don't dwell. Do express yourself, but don't try to drum up exaggerated emotion. Do pray for mercy on the family. Don't say anything stupid. Do be glad that Jeff's in heaven. Don't for a moment kid yourself that you don't still want him here.
Don't don't don't. Do do do.  

You know what I regret the most? That I didn't know him better. Perhaps I shouldn't feel that way--after all, if I'd known him better I'd be grieving harder now, right? Logic. But logic has little place here, today. Logic can go stuff it.

Where am I going with this? I don't really know.

I suppose this is the part where I roll out some beautiful rumination on life and death, something profound, or a statement of faith. But I'd have to go shallower in my heart to make that happen, and I don't think Jeff deserves that.

He deserves me at a loss for words.