I sat near the back of St. Mary’s Catholic Church in New England on Wednesday morning.
Like most people in the church, I was somewhere that only a few days earlier I never thought I would have to be, honoring a man I never imagined we would lose so young.
Forty-five minutes before the funeral was set to begin, there wasn’t a seat left. I looked around and saw people crowding into the back of the church and squeezing into pews. I patted my hand on the shoulder of one of my oldest friends and said, “Look around.”
We didn’t know what to say. I wanted to smile, knowing this man had touched the lives of so many people, but couldn’t muster one.