What is seen is transitory, but what is unseen is eternal.

Today I will gentle my soul for yesterday it ached with 
the shared grief of friend and stranger as we 
gathered to mourn the loss of a young son.

Jack, just 16-years old,
has traveled ahead of those who love him and 
will now wait for them in the unseen.

There are few things that I know for certain.
This is one of them:
Nothing will heal this grief.  
But time will soften the edges. 
Make them less sharp.
The cuts, less deep.

To the gift of time . . . 

God's speed, young Jack.