Even I can't make this funny

I just got back from a wake that was for a friend's mom. She was only 49 years old and left behind three children. I'm not particularly close with this girl, but I've known her for three years and have worked with her on the RA staff this past year, so I felt like I should go to the wake, even if it was briefly, to at least show her some support and express my condolences-which I'll admit came out better when I wrote them in the card than when I tried to express them verbally.

The only people close to me that have ever died have been above the age of 65, so I can't say that I can relate to someone who lost a loved one that was taken too early. The friend's mom finally succumbed to multiple illnesses, the last of which was lymphoma, after being sick for quite sometime, so I suppose it was not sudden, but it still doesn't ease the pain of losing your mother at 49.

The hardest part at the wake was looking at my friend's dad, watching him stoically greet guests as he stood near his wife's coffin. He embraced each person that greeted him like he was hugging a long lost friend. It really moved me and I was surprised by my emotions. I watched him the entire time I was there, thinking how difficult it must be to see your two daughters who look exactly like your wife and how hard it must be to try to stay strong from them and your son, who is about to be married. He would periodically glance at his wife's lifeless body laid out before family and friends and this truly broke my heart. The love that they must have shared was so obvious that it filled the room and was clearly shown in his eyes.

Then I thought about all that my friend's mother would be missing. Her eldest daughter's college graduation, her youngest daughter's high school graduation, her only son being married, and the countless other moments that will occur in their lives without their mother being at their side to support them, comfort them, embrace them.

My mind drifted as I tried not to think about my mom or dad passing away, but it was inevitable in this environment I suppose. I thanked God that my parents are relatively healthy, besides being fucking chimneys, and I prayed that they would be around for a long time to come.

I never know how to respond to hearing that someone's relative or friend died. I do genuinely feel sympathetic, but I have no idea how to express it. I don't know what's appropriate or what's inappropriate, so sometimes I awkwardly hug the person, pat them on the back, and just say the generic "I'm sorry for your loss, let me know if you need anything." Honestly, when my grandma died a few years ago, I hated when people told me, "Let me know if you need anything." What the fuck am I going to need that you can offer me? Some booze? Some money? How about my grandma back for another 15-20 years? It's so fucking generic, but we all say it, and I suppose a good percentage of us mean it. Still, I can't compare the experience of losing a grandparent to a mother, no matter how close I was with my grandma, it just isn't the same.

My friend held up very well during the time I was at the wake. Obviously the family knew it was coming for some time, but how can the death of your mother at only 49 years old not be shocking in some manner? She didn't cry that I saw, she smiled, she held a baby, she thanked her friends for coming, she graciously accepted cards and flowers. She went through the motions so well that I felt like it was going to be very hard for her later when there aren't motions to take or hundreds of people around, watching your every move, thinking that you're going to fall and being humbled by your strength.

I cry the hardest when I'm alone and I feel like she will, too. There's nothing I can say to make any of it better or less tragic, so all I can do is keep the family in my thoughts and prayers and hope that their memories of their mom and wife will keep them comforted for the rest of their lives.