tears. and plastic bottles.

We got into the truck and drove around town for two hours. We ended up in a dry grass field. There were plastic bottles and mounds of dirt all around. We were in a graveyard, for a funeral of a man whom we had never met. I could not keep tears in as I watched an auntie lose two sons--one who had been killed, and the other who had been put in jail. No family should have to lose two sons in one day. The wife of the man being buried lost her husband. All that she said was that her heart aches. Over and over, "my heart won't stop aching for him." Her belly bore the man's unborn child. No woman should lose her husband. No child should lose his father before even meeting him.

As the cold, lifeless tractor came to life and filled the ground with dirt, Pastor Shipo began to preach of how God was taking back His child. A man of only 25 lay in the ground as his friends and loved ones and family watched. There were few tears. This death is not new for this family. This is such a cold reality.

In this moment, my tears were more than those of the man's auntie or wife. Their hearts were broken but their faces did not show it. As his body and his earthly possessions lay within the earth, we stand above and eave this place with only half a glimpse of what death looks like. There is singing for him and soon he will be singing with Christ. But for now, all that remains are the tears and plastic bottles in the tall dry grass.