This past week was rough. Three good friends passed on to their creator – in four days. In between calling hours and funeral rites, I’ve had some time to think on the reality of the losses.

Death is a subject most people don’t like to talk about. But we live with its reality every day. If we’re older, it’s almost as if we live in a waiting room. I like to keep my waiting in the back of my mind. The very back.

I bumped into an acquaintance at the cemetery on Saturday. She lost her husband this past May. This lovely lady and I commiserated about losing a spouse and the different difficulties it presents. She confided that the hardest thing to do right now is check the “widow” box when filling out forms. I completely understood. She was being dropped into a different slot, one that she did not choose. And I hope she doesn’t experience too much sadness with the mail. I didn’t tell her how heart-wrenching the incoming mail is for many moons afterward.

I still get mail addressed to Tom. A few months ago, he received a personalized mailing from a memorial company. Could they interest him in a special headstone? Perhaps preplanning with pre-cut names and birthdates? I didn’t bother calling them to take him off their prospect list. He died 16 years ago, and he is a little scattered these days.

We spread Tom’s ashes on the Allegheny River at his request. His plan was that they would be carried past Three Rivers Stadium, into the Ohio river, on to the Mississippi and out into the Gulf of Mexico. He predicted that they would pick up the current – the Gulfstream – and be carried the rest of the way to Ireland, where they belonged. Come to think of it, I should have just used some of his airline miles for a trip to Ireland myself. His ashes could have just as easily been scattered into Galway Bay as the Allegheny. What was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn’t.

The summer Tom died, I was fortunate that my daughter and adorable granddaughter stayed on. They lengthened their visit to get me through the rough early days and to search for my “new normal.” A 2-year-old spreads sunshine on an unhappy heart.

When I was young, I truly thought that the rituals surrounding death were barbaric. I attended cousins’ services with my mother and managed to keep my mouth shut. It took me a long time to grow up and understand the necessity of the rituals. It wasn’t until I personally lost close friends that I realized how hard losses were. I gradually discovered the solemnity that comes with saying goodbye.

I felt better having seen and been with other people who also loved the departed. I began to understand the importance of visiting hours and funeral luncheons. Experiencing the stories, the kindnesses, the uniqueness about the lives of the deceased helped everyone. I always learned more than I knew, but came away with a larger, more complete picture.

When Tom and I were first married, living in San Diego, his mother wrote weekly to us. It was always two or three pages. We kidded her one holiday that the middle page could have been preprinted with a space to be filled in each week: “———————- has the Big C. They’ve given him ——–months.” Or, “Tuesday. we went to visiting hours for — at the funeral home. And, “Thursday, we went to funeral mass for———————-.” Same events every week. And thus, their social life. Fill in the blanks. They had reached that point.

They always thought that since they were long lived, no one would be left to attend their memorial services. They weren’t thinking about the amount of younger people’s lives they touched, or their children’s and grandchildren’s friends and associates who came out of respect for their loss.

I think most of us know about the strength of love. But my in-law’s deaths made me fully realize how powerful respect is at the time of loss. We do the right thing: we honor and respect the person who is gone, simply by being there.

The longer one lives in a small town, the more people one knows. If you were born there, there’s no limit to the size of your circle – all of whom will depart this earth.

As I watched the bereaved at the funeral homes, the churches, and the cemeteries this past week, it was easy to see how many lives one person touches. As we went through the rituals, The amount of respect that was shown Pat, John, and Louise was visible, palpable. Their lives will live on. In us.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.