As I entered the church for the funeral, I was handed a blank postcard, a pen and a small yellow envelope that jingled with coins. The postcard had a stamp affixed. People put them in suit jacket pockets or handbags, and when one person opened the small yellow envelope and counted the change inside, everyone started doing it. Somehow it was musical. The chiming of bell birds. One person whispered to one another, “Coins for the ferryman,” and I could hear the echo of it from others.
The service started and we were still none the wiser after the processional, the introduction, the opening hymn and the reading of Scripture. The priest stood for what I assumed was the homily. Instead, he explained the postcard and the coins. “Tell yourself the most significant loss you have experienced and why it still hurts. You can write your own address on the postcard or leave it blank. On the way home, buy a packet of lollies as a treat, a succour to your grieving.”
Even in your death, you know what everyone needed.
A Fullness in Brevity - Adam Byatt 