Not knowing what to say about this, but wishing to pay my respects to fellow members of my tribe, I'll go to my old standby: a poem I made last year for a funeral service of a friend.
To all things there is a season
Even trials which, for no reason,
Seem to strike us down without remorse;
And when our time has run its course
We must remember, through our fears
That we are allocated only years.
We are born into this world
Larval, incomplete, and furled
With no knowledge of what awaits us soon;
And then we crawl into cocoons
Of wood and earth, and thence to die
While all around us, mourners ask God why.
In our rebirth, they cannot see
Our souls borne into eternity
As we emerge from our chrysalis.
And so, my love, I tell you this:
As from eternal grace hope springs
A butterfly begins to spread its wings.
It is my sincerest wish that as they go on to their eternal rewards, they receive a "welcome home" as loving and joyful as this one: