It was the wail that told the neighbors that something was wrong.  A blood-curdling scream that said a mother had just heard the worst of news.

Connie was drinking a cup of coffee, when out the corner of her eye she saw her husband John sobbing as he walked across the back yard.  She followed the direction he had come from.  On the patio sat her oldest son Justin, his 6-foot 4-inch frame trembling, with his hands covering his ears, as if to silence the truth.

The scene meant only one thing; there was bad news about her youngest son Nolan, or her 8-year old granddaughter, Jordan.

Connie shivered under the hot sun. 

John walked towards her - wanting to tell her, not wanting to tell her - but she turned away from him.

As if in slow motion, with her heart racing, she turned away from John and said "Before you tell me, take me to my doctor.  I'm going to need medical attention".  She knew the words would be too painful to bear. 

John knelt down beside her.  Took her hand.  Hung his head and whispered, "Nolan's dead". 

The wail.  The scream.  The piercing sound of agony. 

It went on for minutes, maybe several minutes - who keeps track of time at times like this?

"Mom, you need to control yourself",  Justin said, although he could barely control his own emotions.

How do you control your emotions, she thought.  How do you deal with the death of your child?   How do you go on?

For some reason, later in the day, she read my blog on OpenSalon.  She had a feeling I would write about Nolan. 

She was right;  I wrote about Nolan often, although I rarely said his name.  He was the reason I started a blog, and the first person I told about my blog. 

Nolan and I were on opposite sides of the political spectrum.  We had friendly debates that encouraged us both to look at the other's point of view.  I remember the night of November 4th, when he wrote me an email as the east coast was going to bed:  "Congratulations.  It looks like Obama's gonna win.  He'll be my President too".  After that, I wrote in my blog:  "I hope that I could be as gracious in a defeat".

Both Connie and Nolan followed me to OpenSalon.  So it was natural for her to read my post of February 10, 2009, the day Nolan died.

Complete strangers, many of whom I had never heard of before, sent heartfelt messages.  Connie felt comforted as she read the comments.  One in particular resonated with her.  It was a poem titled "All Is Well", sent by Snap.  When I arrived in Florida two days later, I showed Connie a copy of the poem. 

"I read that earlier," she said "and it gave me comfort."

Nolan's cousin read the poem at his memorial service.  Afterwards, people wanted to know where he got the poem.  The cousin looked at me. 

"Someone gave it to me at OpenSalon", I told them.