I have been to enough funerals to know that the days after are the hardest. The service itself has a kind of structure that holds you. There are words to say, hands to shake, and a casserole someone brought that you will not remember eating. But when the mourners leave, and the silence settles in, you are left with the same question that has haunted human beings since the beginning: Is that it? Is that all there is? Last December, I wrote a eulogy.