NPR made me consider something very deeply this evening. (not knitting)

I am a mental health professional. I hear stories everyday that might make you cry, or rant, or want to curl up and suck your thumb. It is my "job" to maintain enough distance to be reassuring, safe and calm enough for the person telling the story to recognize that they have "survived to tell the tale" and that they do have a future... Perhaps even one with less pain, suffering or problems.

This evening I was innocently listening to NPR when they played interviews with the parents of a U.S. Marine who was killed in Iraq. You probably heard the story. You can listen to it by going to NPR . Or there's a blog where you can read the column by Carl Hiaasen. It even made the news in Scotland. 1000 other soldiers killed and this one got noticed.

I've had to deliver death notifications. I've attempted to console people after they've received death notifications. When the situation resonates as this one did, I hurt. I want to flail and hit and cry. Oh do I ever want to cry. Eventually I do.

But not until later. I was dry eyed when the story wrapped. Didn't mention it to my dinner companion.

But later. After I got home and my husband and I were watching television, he innocently asked me to move so he could get up and get a Coke from the kitchen. I was mesmerized by another story on the News about parents whose son was dead. They were publicizing their intention to educate others about Fraternity Hazing involving alcohol... because their 20 year old had died in Colorado, alone, in his fraternity house after just such a situation.

I ignored my husband's request. He got a bit snappish. I responded in kind and urged him to get up and get his @#$% coke. It took us 40 minutes to get back on the even keel that we are accustomed to. I cried some more. I snapped a bit more (when he tried, prematurely, to make me cheer up). There's nothing like a mourning mother to stir the emotions. And when stirred, misunderstandings take root.

The Marine's step-mother had been a staunch pacifist... and now she hated the idea that her step-son had died "for nothing." I'm not sure there would be anything that would be "worth" losing either of my children. I am not sure that the situation in the Middle East is a cause I want anyone to die for.

But Mr. Arredondo's death is valued here. He reminded me to the center of every cell in my brain and body: We must tell our children we love them. (I called mine as quickly as my cell phone speed dial would go when the radio story finished. He's fine. He pointed out that he's not a Marine, not in Iraq, and not in harm's way. He enjoyed teasing me. None of that mattered. His lively voice and mundane news are precious to me.

Mr. Arredondo couldn't have known he'd have an impact on me. Someone he never met. Never knew of. Miles away. But he did.

And because he did, I beg you to show your love your sons and your daughters. Let them know while they live and breathe. And be compassionate with the bereaved. Be compassionate with anyone who seems "touchy." You just never know what they might have on their minds.