Delia Cunningham, Alison Cimmet, Damian Young, Shakur Tolliver, Gamze Ceylan, and Ana Cruz Kayne Photo by Julieta Cervantes

The six members of the support group have assembled for their weekly session, and they have all recently (some less recently than others) experienced devastating loss. Beth, the therapist who typically runs the meetings, has inexplicably not shown up, and the participants decide to go forth with the session anyway. Without a sympathetic facilitator, though, the grieving individuals stumble through the typical agenda and periodically lash out at each other.

The group members include officious and pushy Nelle (Alison Cimmet), who is coping with the death of her sister. Easygoing Julian (Shakur Tolliver) is in mourning for his beloved aunt, and Lily (Ana Cruz Kayne), a retired actress at age 30, is bitterly angry over the death of her mother. Thom (Damian Young) uses work to distract him from the death of his beloved wife, and to the consternation of some, has started dating again after just three months. Too soon? Evelyn (Gamze Ceylan) is maternal and reassuring with the other group members, but she appears to have some health issues of her own.

Jude (Delia Cunningham), the newest member of the group, is dealing with the emotional fallout of a miscarriage, and her presence raises issues of so-called grief hierarchies. As Nelle caustically explains, there's a "difference between losing a fetus and losing a person." Even grief, the play suggests, is ruthlessly waged as a competitive sport, and people are often and wrongfully judged for supposedly not doing it correctly.

Directed by Tatiana Pandiani, the ensemble works effectively as a cohort, and gradually each individual peels back the layers of their protective emotional armor. To the credit of the playwright and the performers, the ninety-minute session never devolves into maudlin expressions of sorrow, and the sadness is balanced with healthy doses of humor.

The play takes place in the putative here and now, and the scenic design by dots artfully recreates the coldness and sterility of a community center classroom. Siena Zoë Allen's costumes realistically reflect the clothing people would wear on a sweltering mid-July evening. There are hints, however, that the characters are joined by supernatural and spectral forces. For instance, the florescent lights occasionally flicker, and there are strange beeping sounds–perhaps from a hospital heart monitor? (Oona Curley's lighting and Mikaal Sulaiman's sound design provide just a touch of creepiness without overdoing.) To quote Stephen Sondheim, as the characters sometimes do, "No one is alone. Truly."

A great deal goes unexplained in this quiet and affecting play, and that is the point. There are no simple answers on how to manage and live with bereavement. All we can do is take solace in knowing that our lives are better for having known and lost someone spectacular.