Early last week I learned that the father of two boys in my daughter’s school died of a heart attack during spring break. Although he is ten years older than us, both of his sons are my daughters’ age, and for three of the last four years at least one pair of them has shared a classroom teacher. In this way I’ve come to meet and casually know their mom, who volunteers at the school and occasionally served as room mom. The funeral took place at the LDS church at the end of my street last night. A crowed of young and old gathered in the parking lot, creating a sea of black suits mixed with bright red shirts. (The deceased worked as coach for the University of Houston Cougar Swim Team and their school color is red.) That night I passed by the funeral gathering on my way to attend a class at my church, where I spoke with another PTA mom about this family and their plans. We also discussed what we might do in a similar situation. My thoughts went back to the LDS parking lot, all those peo