The morning our 20-year old daughter Lee took sick with her last illness, I was trying to write a letter of sympathy to a friend, wondering if it would make any difference. Five days later, I knew. It made a difference. I discovered it was better to reach out than turn away, to say the wrong thing than say nothing. But in living through losing Lee, I also discovered I had something to say to others who suffered the loss of someone they loved.
Pain is better than forgetting.
It has been almost 18 years since she died, but Lee is still with us. The pain has not so much lessened as it has become familiar, like the pain that continues in the leg that has been amputated. Her death is part of us. I steel myself pretty well for the expected moments of pain. Her birthday in March, her death day in August, Thanksgiving, Christmas, even, these days, listening to, an Albinoni oboe concerto knowing it is not she practicing in the next room.