Celebrants often ask the bereaved to speak to a coffin as if the dead might hear them still. I’ve heard protestations, excuses, wishes things had been different, the odd imprecation, assorted verse, declarations of unending remembering, never accusation or condemnation. And what might I say to you when you no longer hear my voice? Might I intrude so much as a word somehow withheld over thirty years and not proclaim my indolence, not corrupt my tears with neglect, not betray the perfect poem of our silence?
What to say?