There are things we do because of the way we are, not in spite of them.
Near the end of 2006 I suffered my second miscarriage. I’d had caring family and friends come by; offering condolences, wrapping me in big hugs, offering words of sympathy and encouragement, and bringing flowers and goodies. All well-meaning, and all appreciated.
In the evening as I was sitting alone on my bed quietly grieving, my then 6 year old son, Clint, came into the room. He climbed gently onto the bed and took my hand. He had an aura of peace and concern; and as he sat silently holding my hand, tears trickled down my cheeks. We sat there together for several long minutes, holding hands, in the quiet. He was not uncomfortable with the silence or my falling tears. He didn’t even ask any questions. He simply understood. He knew that sometimes there are no words; and that's ok, there needn't be any. His intuitive, introverted temperament allowed him to just be with me in that moment and it healed me more than any spoken word. After a few minutes more I whispered “thank you,” he nodded purposefully, climbed off the bed and left the room. I smiled and shook my head.
It was pure genius.