I’m pretty sure that I won’t get too many more opportunities to sing the “Mourner’s Kaddish Prayer” (Yit-gadal v’yit-kadash sh’mey raba…) right before the lyrics of “Moon River” (“Moon River, wider than a smile…”) and say the prayer of “Hinei Ma Tov” (“Hinei ma tov uma na-im…”) after the singing the refrain of “Lean On Me.”

But all of it was blended into the beautiful memorial service I attended last week for my neighbor Sue, a healthy 70-year-old woman who woke up dead last Tuesday morning. Our block is a pretty tight bunch, so we are all still a little shocked and don’t know quite what to do for Bill, her significant other of 25 years.

We started with stories, because that’s the most natural way to celebrate a life and try to make sense of death.

“In telling [stories], we are telling each other the human story,” writes Rachel Naomi Remen in her classic book “Kitchen Table Wisdom.” “Stories that touch us in this place of connection awaken us and weave us together as a family once again.”

Since Sue was a respected psychologist–the former chair of the psychology department at Johns Hopkins University–I was especially intrigued by her life (remember, I considered writing “The Psychiatric Guide to Annapolis” based on the anecdotes I could tell from seven psychiatrists I have seen in the area).

At the service Bill, also a prominent psychologist, told us the story about the time Sue gave one of her patients–a woman who suffered from multiple personalities–her hotel number where she and Bill were vacationing.

At three in the morning, the woman called, frantic, explaining to Sue that one of her alters was acting up and she didn’t know what to do about it.

Sue nudged Bill, who was in a deep sleep, and asked him what she should tell her patient.

“How many personalities are there?” asked Bill.

“Seven.”

“Then have the other six arrange an intervention on the one–get a group dynamic going there,” he said (half joking, half asleep).

So Sue told the woman to do just that.

As each friend, relative, and neighbor stood up to share her favorite memory of this intelligent, passionate, and adventurous woman, I felt the presence of God in our midst–allowing us all a breath of consolation in the midst of this confusion. And with each story, came a kind of connection that is healing.

It’s like the words of both the “Hinei Ma Tov” prayer (“Behold, how good and how pleasant it is, For brothers and sisters to dwell together in unity”), and the song “Lean On Me” (“Lean on me, when you’re not strong. And I’ll be your friend. I’ll help you to carry on. For it won’t be long. ‘Til I’m gonna need. Somebody to lean on.”)

May you rest in peace, Sue. I was lucky to know you.