Somewhere out there, under there, is the wreckage of a ship that some people have been thinking about this week. 50 years ago, off Whitefish Point, a ship broke apart, sank, and 29 people died.

Seventy-four years ago, or so, my dad was in the Army in Korea. Those who remembered veterans this week, those living and those not, were remembering people like my dad.

And this week, friends and students talked about loved ones who have died. And who keep coming to mind, keep being missed.

Sometimes, remembering is really hard. And we do what we can to not think. To not have to think about the people who aren’t here. To not have to be in these experiences without them.

I could, of course, offer a quick turn toward an easy phrase, like how we are their legacy, or how we do with we do in their honor. I could. But I won’t.

It’s okay today, this weekend, to keep quiet for a bit and remember. To ponder these things in our hearts, as Mary did. To try to go off with a few friends, like Jesus did after the death of John, until 20,000 people showed up on the other side of the water and wanted supper. To spend a chapter or so remembering the faithful like the writer of Hebrews did.

To ask Jesus, quietly, to remind us of His promised presence when the waves turn the minutes to hours. Not to fix, but to love.