Footprints in the Snow

I officiated my first funeral yesterday for a dear friend who died suddenly on Monday. It was my first time as a rabbi, and not as a parent, returning to the cemetary where Sammy is buried. I was comforted to see that my friend was being interred only a 1000 feet east of where Sammy is buried. I thought to myself, "At least my friend has Sammy as a neighbor."

I held myself together and calmly read the liturgy and the mourner's kaddish. I held my walls as firmly in place as I could, only wavering at two points during the mourner's kaddish. I gave the family hugs and watched them leave, slowly one by one, after the burial. Then I drove west, looking to see if I could find Sammy's grave on my own. It took a moment and one turn around (there was a lot of snow covering up the landmarks I know to look for). I followed the footsteps in the snow of those who had come to see their loved ones before me. I stood at Sammy's grave and cried my eyes out wanting to scream at the world.

Sammy was my rock. I was Sammy's person. So many times when I had to leave to go to work he would so "No Daddy, don't go." And I hated leaving him even if I needed the time away. I always came back to him and he always came back to me no matter what, even if we had an awful day together not getting along. At the end of each day we always forgave each other and found our way to lying next to each other just before bedtime, side by side in the dark. Sammy always asked me a thousand questions. He was always curious about this and that. He always wanted to know more. I hope he has all his answers now. He would love that.

These days I feel like I only have one question, "Why?"