I'm still reluctant to enter the world of chatting. It's enough of a struggle to get cohesive thoughts without having them be interrupted by people saying hi. Not that that's not nice, but it usually doesn't end with just "Hi." For some reason, I didn't turn off the chat feature when I switched to the "new" version of Yahoo mail--and an acquaintance messaged me tonight.

H was having problems getting downloaded photos onto Facebook; after a few back and forth messages, I gave her my phone number and we walked through a few steps until we figured out the problem. Then she told me that the photos were from her son's funeral, and wondered if they were appropriate to share on Facebook. She said that since I'd helped her, she'd share them with me and get my reaction.

I'm still teary. It was only about sixteen photos, but they showed a mother's grief--naked, wrenching emotion from as far deep in the soul as one can get. There was her husband, trying to hold back the emotion of losing his son. Little girl who would never teach or run with her brother. Young cousins who noted the seriousness of the event with solemn eyes. The father's mother standing behind him, with her hand on his shoulder... That green, fake lawn that covers the hole... Tiny white casket...

Maybe it's the educator in me that sucks everything in and processes it, but I thought the pictures were fine. They show the grieving process. Hopefully, they can help someone else who's been through the same situation. That reminds me of why I blog--to process things, but also to encourage someone else who's following a parallel trail. It's not always pretty, but it's not always morbid. It's, well, life.