When we go to visit father’s grave my husband and children stand by my side. None of them knew my dad; they are there for me. I always cry a bit; I get hugs all around. On the way home from our last visit my youngest asked, “Why do we come if it makes you cry every time?” I say, “I really feel fine. It’s hard to explain.” I wish I had a better answer. I’m surprised that he wonders why I would cry every time. I’m not sobbing; I just “puddle up.” I wonder how my children will manage grief when it affects them. I wonder how I might help them through it. So, when I get home, I call Lucy.