A kind woman stopped me yesterday.

She told me that she reads this blogand that she appreciates it.  She said that she specifically connected with the post – tired. 

I wondered where she was coming from.

She explained.  She said that when she read that post it was the 45th anniversary of when her father died.  She explained that when she read that post, she further appreciated what her mom had to go through raising young kids on her own.  She was six when her father died.

The tears welled up in her eyes.

The tears welled up in my eyes.

45 years later.

I can not explain to you in words what my initial emotional reaction was. 

I hugged her.  I selfishly asked her if she could give me some advice about what her mom did right.  She said to me, “our mom stayed home with us”.

That seems like good advice.

45 years later, the hurt was evident in her eyes.  And that hurt tore through me.

I don’t think about Zion, Jacoba and Zekijah as 50 year olds.  And at this point, I am not going to start.

But this just goes to show the multi-faceted sides of grief.