I’ve been reading Tony Dungy’s autobiography, Quiet Strength,  with some guys from church. This is a great book. If you are a football fan, a parent, an African American, a female, whatever – it doesn’t matter.

I settled in last night to finish a chapter, and decided to continue reading. No big deal, the kids were occupied with a movie. So I got to Chapter 18. The chapter on his son who committed suicide. I didn’t make it halfway. I closed the book and had Josh climb in the chair with me and finish his movie while I cried. The kids had chocolate milk with dinner. At that point it didn’t matter. I hugged them extra long that night.

My friend, Josh, would always tell his Mom & Dad he loved them and kiss them goodbye. Always. Even if he was just going to the store and back. I didn’t get it.

I’m starting to get it.

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