If I’ve learned anything about grief it’s to expect the unexpected.

Moments when your heart sings so loud it drowns out all the sad feelings.

Watching your oldest child graduate from high school. Hearing the applause at the end of your husband’s public lecture. Receiving a hand-drawn card from your 12-year old son.

And those other moments.

When the freight train hits you again and you end up on the floor of the girl’s washroom sobbing so hard you can barely catch your breath.

Like that time Michael picked Sheila for the last slow song at the turn-around dance.

Or the evening of the Scouts annual dinner and slide-show highlighting photos of Clara’s closest friends growing up and experiencing life without her.

On both occasions, I was blessed with dear friends who wrapped their arms around me, shared in my tears and offered me tissues to wipe the smudged mascara away before having to go out and face the crowd.

I thank them for letting me know that I wasn’t the only one remembering and grieving this loss. And for letting me comfort them, too.