All the warmth went out of the world

This morning I got the car started early for my drive out to Palmer. We've had some more snow - I've lost track now of how much, something around 3 feet total I guess, and then the temps dropped hard yesterday so it just around zero this morning. Black ice all the way under a completely frigid sky. Standing ice fog obscured the mountains, and the sun too - you could just see generally where it was supposed to be behind that layer of descended cold. It felt like the world had shut down for Laura's funeral.

Inside the train depot at Palmer, I joined a line of people filing past the register - the main hall was already full. I was still several people away from a chance to sign my name when they asked us to just come in so things could start. We pushed our way into the crowd and I found a space along the wall - nearly as many people standing as there were occupied chairs. I only have a small sense of how many worlds intersected in that room today; those who spoke represented some of Laura's closest sphere but the outward ripples were represented in those of us who stood packed together for that hour and a half. It was meant to be a celebration of life, but in my heart I didn't feel anyone there who was prepared for that, not yet. But there was encouragement and support and honor, and a clear sense of a shared gift that was taken too soon.

I felt alone in that crowd of people. There were some folks in the room that I knew from my years at the University, but that world was an unhappy one for me and there was no comfort in those faces. Allen was remarkably functional but from across the room he might have been a million miles away. I stood and I listened and I mourned but I barely breathed - it felt like sadness was squeezing my lungs.

Afterward, the clog of people at the back of the room was huge as folks greeted family members before a shared meal. I waited a little while, then took a different exit. The cold air hit my lungs and I wasn't warm enough despite my sweater and heavy coat, I could feel the warmth seeping out of me as I put my head down and walked away, feeling about as barren and desolate as I have in years.

About 30 yards later, I didn't hear any steps in the snow behind me, just a hand on my shoulder. I turned and there was the friend who has known me every day of my life in Alaska, and Becky wrapped her arms around me hard and the sobs in me burst. I hadn't known she was there the whole time - she'd pushed her way to within a few feet of me but I hadn't looked around the room. She didn't know about the service until 45 minutes before it started, but rushed to add her shoulders to my burden. There are blessings that come to us undeserved in this life. Magical people like Laura are among those blessings. Vessels of grace like Becky are among those blessings too.