When you live in a small town, a person dies and the town shuts down. Everyone knows everyone. It's usually everyone knowing everyone's business. I remember once a kid in my class getting pulled over on his way to school and we had heard about it before he got to school to tell us. People truly love to talk.

But - when it's a death, it's entirely different. You treasure and embrace that love and support.

When my dad died, I found out he had the morning after. I remember pulling into our driveway that afternoon, and there were cars parked from one end to the other. Nobody meddling. Nobody wanting the details of the heart attack or where it happened in the house. They were helping.

I remember one woman saying, "I can't cook with a darn, but I can sew - so if you need buttons reattached or hems fixed, you call me". Another had made my brother and I a 'gift tree' - we'd get something new off this mini tree every day, and there would be a scripture verse attached to help us through that day.

They were our CHURCH family. They were the people who had watched us grow up. They had taught us Sunday School, listened patiently as we stumbled through yet another Christmas program, sent cards on days we didn't attend church. (I still have cards Pearl sent me, expressing her "prayers and love" that my sore throat would be gone soon. They had missed me during Sunday School. )

These were the people, arms outstretched, giving all the love they knew to give. I think back on it now, and I know how lucky we were. We didn't doubt that they wouldn't be there for us. They were the extended family, and we to them.

A year after my dad died, a little ten-year-old boy from my church got lost in a blizzard. He was trying to go from the barn to a house, and ended up three miles away. Andy died the next morning. His grandparents were staple members of our church community; incredibly loving and generous people. It broke your heart to watch them hurt so badly. I'd watch Andy grow up. I can still - ten years later - hear Andy yelling after his older sister in the church hallway. You hurt for them and with them. And ten years later, you still send them a card and tell them you remember. How can you not?

Today, I got news again of another death in my church community (the second in two weeks). A two-car accident. Her husband survived, she didn't. Two sons, one currently serving in Iraq. Her parents were another again a pillar couple of my church. They were at my house, casseroles in hand, trying to help however they could. Her husband (the woman that died, this was her dad) was shoveling our driveway for months after dad died.

It's a sense of community I miss, really.

I look at my street and I think, "Damn, how shallow can some of these people be!" I've told some stories on here of the superficial crap that goes on. I've told others the in-depth stories of the crap that continues to go on. It's more and more apparent to me how many people miss the 'big picture' in the world. Looking past these small and petty issues to see what really is big and important in their lives right now.

It's not about getting into the country club, not the car you drive, and certainly not the money in the bank.

In the end, it's about those people you love: your family, your friends.

Isn't that all that matters, really?

"How easily we get trapped in that which is not essential - in looking good, winning at competition, gathering power and wealth - when simply being alive is a gift beyond measure". ~ Parker J Palmer