The first death that I can remember was when I was three years old. It was some great great aunt of mine who I did not know. All I remember was the hospital.

The next was a half uncle who I had just barely met. A long lost brother ripped from the world by lungs turned black. 
I remember crying; I was seven.

When I was twelve my grandfather had a stroke and we went to the hospital eight hours away to say goodbye just in case. 
There was no just in case about it. 
Just a tired man in a hospital bed who's eyes I never saw open again. 
I remember standing up front at the funeral so people could shake my hand and apologize for my loss.  
There was the faint taste of salt at the corner of my lip stretching up my face.

A friend of mine lost five kids from her school last year. I didn't know what to say to her. 
Because how can you tell someone that life goes on when for some people it doesn't? 
How do you console the living who are trying to console the dead?