Oren’s uncle, his grandparents and then Oren came out of that same door and sat down in the front pew. The whole room was silent except for the occasional rustling of clothing, sniffling, and crinkling of tissue wrappers.

Most times I like attending the services. I get to learn about the people who died and hear the nice things others say about them. I don’t know—it just feels good somehow. Sometimes people even say funny things that make everyone laugh through their tears. I’ve always thought that the person who had died—if they were still hanging around to listen—would like that.

But when I saw Oren’s face as he came into the chapel and paused briefly in front of the two caskets, I knew this wouldn’t be one of those times.

Nate stayed out in the lobby to attend to any latecomers. I closed the chapel doors and sat down in the last row at the back. Mom and Dad were already in their reserved spots by the side door.

The rabbi looked out at the crowd. His gaze drew us all in.

He began with a prayer in Hebrew. His deep voice resonated all the way back to me. He then switched to English and thanked everyone for coming.

His talk was full of really nice details about Mr. and Mrs. Katzman—Oren’s parents. How they had lived lives filled with love and commitment, to each other, to their son and to their community.

It was nice learning more about these people I would never meet, even though by the time the rabbi was finished, every single person was crying—even me. I couldn’t see Oren way up at the front but wondered what he was thinking. No matter how many nice things were said about his parents, nothing could bring them back.

Mr. Silver stepped up to the podium. He thanked everyone for coming and then told a funny story about his little sister at his bar mitzvah. She’d gone missing, and they had looked for her everywhere. They were about to call the police when they found her hiding under one of the tables. Their mother had forbidden her to touch anything from the dessert table, so she had grabbed a tray of cupcakes and was under the table, licking the icing off every one. That was Mindy, he said, defiant and headstrong. No one could ever tell her what to do.

He told the story with such love and laughter, but as soon as he was done, he broke. He started crying so hard he couldn’t finish his speech. The rabbi stepped forward and gently guided him back to his seat.

One of Mr. Katzman’s friends came up and talked about the couple for a bit. His eyes were focused on the front row, like he was speaking directly to Oren about how wonderful his parents were.

I wondered if Oren heard any of it. I hoped he would be able to remember some of it later.

A few more speeches, and then it was over. I glanced at my dad and saw him nod at one of the men in the second row, the cue for the pallbearers to come up to the front. They would carry the caskets out to the hearses that had been backed up to the big side doors on the far side of the chapel.