Death and stuff.

I went to the funeral of a young hispanic woman I knew killed in a car wreck this week. She was 26 yrs old and left behind a husband and 4 little girls. I hadn't met her family before. I arrived at the funeral home and I was the only white face in a sea of brown faces. I have never seen so many people at a visitation before ever. There is quite a tight knit community here and that is a nice thing to see. As I arrived they were finishing up the Rosary in Spanish. The rhythmic chanting was soothing and comforting. There is nothing that brings out the mother in me more than to see people in emotional pain. I hugged everyone tightly, her husband, her mother, her sisters and brothers. I stroked hair, spoke in low soothing tones, I cried and swayed with the grief with her little sister. They are probably still talking about me.
I hate thinking of young death. One turn into an intersection and "bam" thats it. No advance warning. No goodbyes. No sweet notes left behind. It seems so unfair. It just doesn't fit. Someone once told me that it is a reminder to all of us that each day is a gift. But who wants to be the reminder?
I am a woman of deep faith, make no mistake about that. But one question about life after death has always bothered me. We are suppose to be so happy in heaven, right? How can we be happy if someone we loved dearly isn't there?
Take my brother for example. If any of what the 3 major religions of the world have to say about going to heaven or hell is true, my brother will be bathing in a tub of hot lava the moment the grim reaper whisks his sinful ass off this earth. So how can I be happy in heaven without him? I asked the holiest person I know that question. After a long moment of reflection she said "maybe we won't remember them." Oh great. We will be like estatically joyous alzheimers patients.
Not to make light of serious things. I know my question will never be answered until the moment that it won't really matter anymore.
So if you have a moment today, say a prayer for a family with 4 little girls who no longer have a mother. And go tell someone you love that you love them. Because, trust me, you might not have a chance tomorrow.