Even after the bridge is burned, you can still swim across.

One of my high school classmates committed suicide last week.  I can't say this represents a personal loss for me - she was never part of my life - but I am terribly sad for her family and I am so sorry that she found herself in a place where dying was the only way out.  Wilbur, though, and another of our friends, Lu, as one-time close friends of this woman, felt they had to go to the funeral and as I was in town, I went to support them.  I'm glad I went because the place was all but empty.  I realize we leave the world the way we lived in it, but I'm glad that I went just to fill a seat so that her family wasn't alone.

A surprise positive that came of this sadness, though, is that I saw an old friend at the service.  This is a person I was quite close to in high school but 14 years ago we had a horrible, screaming, crying falling out.  The reasons for this breakdown were many and valid, but on Saturday (the day of the service) we saw each other for the first time in more than 10 years and we talked.  The first thing she said was, "I'm so sorry."  And she was (is).  We can't rebuild the bridge, but there are other ways of crossing.