As a general rule I try not to cry in front of my kids. Once they saw me cry because I couldn’t find my wedding ring. I burst into tears so fast it surprised even me. Usually I hide in the bathroom or wait until they’re fast asleep before I have myself a good cry.

But with my aunt’s passing, we’ve all lost someone dear to us and they’ve seen me cry plenty in the last few days. Their reaction to my tears has been telling for me.

Girl comforts me the way I comfort her when bad thoughts grip her at bedtime, when her mind seizes on some incident of the day and won’t let go.

“Don’t think about sad things,” Girl tells me, patting my shoulder. “Think about something happy. Like when we were in the swimming pool. That was happy, right Mom?”

Boy comforts me the way I comfort him when he cries about Guatemala. He hugs my waist hard and wipes my tears with his finger. “It’ll be okay, Mom,” he says.

So I see that nurturing can be a two-way street between mother and child. Sometimes it’s reassuring to take comfort from a small, firm hand.