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My husband gets me.  The other day I got some very sad news.  While I was processing the information I started tearing up the kitchen floor.  Peter came in and found me on the floor picking away at the 70 year old vinyl and didn't say a word about the mess I had created.  Yesterday he said to someone:  "she didn't have clover to pull and I know she needed that release."  That's when I knew that he understands me.  The funny part is that he got me before I got me.  I didn't realize that's what I was doing, a home remodeling version of picking clover.  He's a good man, this one.

The sad news I received is that a dear friend in Salem had lost her son.  He died.  His funeral was today.  He was 19 years old.  This young man had played with my children when they were younger.  He was an adventurous kid.  He lived life on the edge.  At his service they read a poem he wrote when he was 14.  It was very insightful.  He was the "troublemaker" and teachers didn't know what to do with him.  He couldn't turn down a triple dog dare and he needed to fly.  His friends got up and told stories of how smart he was and the dares he took.  They will all miss him.  How could they not?

The sadness I feel for my friend is incomprehensible, yet I'm sure it's nearly nothing to the sorrow she is experiencing.  

No one should ever have have to bury their child.  We need to hug our babies (no matter how old they are) and hold them tight.  We need to love them and tell them we love them.   We need to accept them for who they are, we need to embrace their uniqueness.  A week ago I may have complained about my children's choices but perspective convinces me they are wonderful and perfect just the way they are and I won't complain.  I know I'm feeling melancholy (it's been a hard day) and time and distance will probably again make me question their decisions.  But for now, I just wanted to hold them, just like they are.