Luke’s five minutes before Mass. She’ll chat with Mom’s friends afterward. That will be enough. The parking lot is full. Mourners stream into the church. Stricken with panic, she’s sure she missed it as she watches all these strangers, young and old. This is someone else’s funeral. Her watch says 3:55. Father Dolan is waving from the steps. Smiling. He’s happy to see her as if she is on time, in the right place. Although Mom wasn’t much on fashion, she would like her black linen suit, would approve of the green scarf. “A little bit of color,” she’d say, “always makes the outfit.” Father squeezes her hand. “Bless you dear.” “Thank you, Father.” He wasn’t the kind of priest to say, “We haven’t seen you in quite a while.” Still, she’s feared the encounter. “All these people knew Mom?”
