At first the stunned silence post Mr. X was to be expected. The wound was glaring, a disappointing systemic shock which seemed better treated with quiet. A tiny holy lull to honor a leaf as it fell from a tree. Parting happens everyday to all sorts of people, an event so comfortingly common yet no less painful for either the tree or the leaf. Who is what? It doesn't really matter anymore, just that it happens.
We deal with how it echoes our prior losses and threatens future hopes. It takes our words, it makes us solemn. For a little bit.