My father has lost his two best friends recently, three weeks apart, on either side of Christmas. Being of the same silent generation, none of them knew of each other’s failing health, so these losses were shocking. Like the loss four years ago of Dad’s brother and brother-in-law two(?) weeks apart, Dad was sent reeling. These men were his best friends and family—WAY too close to “home.”

Jim and my father met at work one summer, when both were newlyweds in Marin County, California. Their wives figured out how to cook together. Both young couples moved to Sacramento and had their children about the same time. Our two families grew up together, sharing many meals, field trips, and even a few vacations.

Bill was our neighbor when I was in high school. Bill and Dad shared a love of guitar and Americana music. They kept visiting each other to play music until a few years ago, when Dad’s Parkinson’s disease sabotaged his fingers.

Dad can no longer write his own letters, and I know both men. Writing Dad’s condolence letters to women I haven’t seen in probably 40 years was extra painful because I realized I’d be telling them about Dad’s passing all too soon.

Condolence letters are supposed to be comforting and widow-focused. I’m afraid I had trouble staying on task. Trying to relate to their grief was all too easy, although losing a father is nothing like losing a true-love spouse. I doubt I was very comforting with my connecting with them over our shared, extended caregiving.

Close as I am to death these days, I STILL have no idea how to offer emotional comfort to the grieving. My own pain was the best I could offer–well, plus my gratitude for their camaraderie with Dad over the years and some fond memories. I didn’t think Soul School would help at this time.

The elders from my life are leaving, leaving me and my cohort to fill their shoes. I will carry many wonderful memories of them to guide me, but…

but I am not ready. Too bad! Life goes on. It’s my job—do it!