I Wonder Why Others Die Old

It is Saturday morning, and it is raining. The mums are in flower, and I am thinking about you.
I am watching the funeral of Ted Kennedy. You did not know him. It is raining in Boston too. And I am thinking about you.
As they brought his casket into the church, I saw your casket. And I forgot about his funeral. For I am thinking about you only.
And I relived the day when we gathered around your casket. When your brother wore his first suit; when your mother cried her last cries. When I was dreaming of that girl who often said “I can deal with it”.
… I still find it difficult to see caskets in a church. I still find it difficult to think that four years ago you were in a casket. I still find it very difficult to think that others die when they are old, and that you died a few weeks after your 12th birthday.
I went to your grave yesterday. It was raining. Your friends had left flowers and cards there on your birthday. The black granite with your name on it was shining under the rain. A rogue lightning shined upon it for a second. I was glad to be there to see it. And I thought about you.… I find it difficult to see caskets in a church.