I have always been pretty capable of coping with loss. I was raised in an environment that allowed me to accept mortality. I have never been scared of death or of people close to me dying. However, recently, I have come to realize that doesn't translate to not be scared of being without them. I have, and you have probably read about it, dealt with several losses recently, all of which affected me in new and surprising ways that I haven't been entirely prepared to deal with. The worst shock, however, was someone I never met. Very close friends of the family lost a child at 18 months old before we ever knew them. Friday, I was over at their house and happened to be rearranging things on a bookcase when I came across funeral pictures. First of all, how morbid is that? Pictures at the funeral, maybe, but these were pictures of an open casket, an two-foot long open casket with a baby boy in it. And he did not look peaceful. I wouldn't say he looked bad, but he certainly looked off. And I don't know what I would have expected him to buried in, but he was dressed in a simple yellow onesie. I'm not even quite sure how I feel about it, except perhaps disturbed, but I know I will never get the picture of that tiny white coffin out of my head.