Blessings for a fragile life

A woman, a mother, regularly writes a journal. On a Friday morning she ends a short entry with a word in her mother tongue that translates as "blessings". Later that day she will learn that as she was writing that beautiful word her son was already dead.
Two weeks later at his memorial she speaks with composure and conviction of God's presence in the grief, questions and anger ...
And so we prayed over the family and the minister sang a Celtic blessing over them and gradually we all joined in.
Life is fragile, tragic and blessed.