I was doing fine this morning. Then I saw this photo:

The brave little 11-yr-old and perhaps one day Senator Kennedy....

That was the hardest thing when my grandfather died and I was 12 when he died of cancer. Everything was ok. I was pleasant to all those who came from far and wide. Praised along with the rest of the grandchildren of holding up so beautifully. And similarly to the Kennedy family, with cancer, we knew that death was inevitable.. and prepared as well as we could. But when it came to putting the casket in the ground, oh man, its def. why that part is more private and for family. Its tough.

that may motivate all else in that youngster's life.

We are the elements that make us. That young man has great genetic material to work with. Now, he also has knowledge of the profoundly personal and intense pain of loss. Somewhere in his tender years, it would seem likely his grandfather shared with him the knack of taking one's own pain and using it as a tool to understand that of others.

He will be a fine man. This horrible moment will help him take what was given him and make himself into a great man.

Buy, yeah, we grieve for his loss. Because we too, know pain and have empathy. Empathy leads us to good work.

There is a youngster I know who is a bit different from the kids in her peer group. She doesn't quite fit in. She lost her dear grandpa recently. She is very lonely. Think I will give her another call tomorrow. There is a project to be done, and it would be well served with young hands to help with it.

There are sad youngsters out there. They have much to teach us. Turn pain into action.

6-8 months his personality changed in a way that amazed me. He became sneaky and dishonest and testy and seemed not to care. At the time nobody understood what was going on. With a little time, he got completely over it and back to his old self (he had one session with a phychologist) but I'd never witnessed such a thing. Little kids do grieve in a big way. Thanks for replying, Havocmom.

I was 11. He was more of a father to me when I was young than my own father (who died recently as well).

I remember the graveside service -- they opened his casket so each of us women in his life could put a red rose in the casket with him. My grandmother, my mother, my grandfather's niece, my sister, and I.

I couldn't watch them lower him into the ground.