Last night, I attended a wake for a 20-year-old friend of both my sons. Needless to say, it was heart-breaking.  It brought back to my memory the heart-wrenching story of a mother I once wrote about who had lost both of her sons at two different times to homicide. Summarily, she told me, "When they lowered my son into the ground, my womb hurt." So descriptive and deep.

The chapel was packed last night, filled with the the young man's family members, friends, former bosses, and others he had touched along the way. It was evident that he had left a legacy despite the brevity-- as we would describe it-- of his life on earth. During the liturgy and rituals, I prayed for his brothers, sisters, and the mother whose body heaved with sobs as her son lay in front of her. As I moved toward the receiving line and came closer and closer to the family, my heart began to beat and my eyes welled up involuntarily.  I was hoping to show a strong demeanor to allow them a respite from the tears.  But, I  too, was hurting-- for them. My son's friend buried his head in the crook of my neck and I told him it would be okay.  "Peace be with you," I whispered.  And I could feel him nod his head. As I bent down to hug his mother, she reached up to me to hug back.  Through tears she said, "I can't stand this." She took the wadded ball of tissue and wiped her eyes for probably the thousandth time, and I said, "I know.  Just remember the good times." For this young man was truly a good son.

Once again, I said, "Peace be with you," and in that moment it seemed as if this beautiful, grieving mother had caught her breath. It was also in that moment that I knew she would withstand this terrible tragedy, one hug at a time.