Pat him. Give him a comforting pat. See? He’s dabbing his eyes. Pat him. Pat him on the shoulder. Now. Now. Pat him.
I hesitated. Finally, when I had collected myself somewhat, I sang the last hymn. (Hadn’t been able to sing the first two for all my bawlin’ and squallin’.) Then the funeral was over, and the family began to leave. I put my arm around the stranger’s shoulder and patted him. He said, “You have a beautiful voice.”
Is that what that was about? Surely, that was not a directive just for ME to get a compliment, right? It must have been to comfort this man?
Mysterious ways indeed.