I met another shepherd named Lily today.

Darker, and with more pliable ears, she was narrow and sleek like my Lily. She chased a stick someone threw, and others thought the idea was great. Like a spreading rash, everyone tossed the stick as she panted and ran.

She was exhausted finally, and I crouched down pouring bottled water into my cupped palm. She licked and lapped.

We kept Debbie company at her house after a service for Tim. We looked at photos and remembered him lightly, so that the weight of his death did not crush us.

I asked Debbie when she got Lily. Her answer amazed me.

She said, about a year ago. I got her for Tim.

Still pondering death I wandered through the house they had shared and gaped at so much food. Trays of chicken and pasta salad, baked zit, pies, pastries, cold cuts, potato chips, chicken in wine and butter sauce, fatty, salty, and tasty things covered every counter, table, sideboard and surface.

If we eat we are not crying. If we bring food we are not arriving amid bereavement with empty hands that are unable to comfort. We are useful and full of purpose as we unveil a useless potato au gratin dish. Quickly we make big important work of cleaning dirty forks and spoons, pouring coffee, and greeting guests and friends as they arrive. Meg leans on Addie and says, Oh, I am drunk! While Addie looks at Debbie L. and says, I wish I felt like you. Debbie tells her, I feel mellow, easy. She laughs a laugh I love like pulling on warm gloves, like incense.

She got up to make more Cosmos and smile and talk with friends. Timmy had died and we were here at his house and missing him.

We talked of vacations and jobs. Resumes and diets. New shoes and our children.

Where is Tim right now, and did consciousness follow him?

I miss my friend. I look at Mary, Meg, Nancy, Mike, Everyone…I have to be good to these people as often as I can. Their lives are woven together and wrap around my own.

We stare at death like a candle flame or the moon. We look endlessly, learning nothing and hoping a spark of understanding will nip away at the edges.

We can't imagine forever.

Everything we know has a bottom, a top, an ending.

Timmy is a wisp of flame to me. He will warm my hands and keep bright one small corner of my thoughts.