Because I could not stop for Death-

He kindly stopped for me-

The Carriage held but just Ourselves-

And Immortality.

[Because I Could Not Stop For Death, Emily Dickinson]

It’s a small thing, but not such a small thing – traffic yielding to let a funeral procession pass. Growing up, I saw it in every town I called home – and there were a lot of them. And it wasn’t just the cars that paused. I remember my grandmother standing still on a sidewalk, holding my hand and giving a nod to the procession. When the last car with headlights on passed, she’d give my hand a squeeze and continue with whatever activity had brought us to that piece of sidewalk in the first place.

I’m not sure if the yielding, the pausing of life’s goings-on, was out of superstition, public pressure, or something more profound – perhaps some combination of the three. But keeping still in honor of a life received, lived, and given back is a chance to catch a glimpse of something sacred and true: the mystery of life draws close when I am going about my daily tasks. This mystery is never far away. And it encourages me to remember the sanctity and brevity of the gift that is my life and the lives of those with whom I spend it.