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A friend whose uncle died when she was ten years old told me this story. A few months after his death, her aunt paid a visit to their house. Before the aunt's arrival, my friend's mother told her, "Whatever you do, don't talk about Uncle Ed." At one point during the visit, the girl and her aunt were sitting side by side on a bed talking, and she blurted, "I miss Uncle Ed so much." They both started crying. Then the young girl, remembering her mother's warning, said, "Oh, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Her aunt replied, "Sorry? I'm so thankful that you mentioned him!"

Coming out of church one Sunday, feeling stony and alone, I was close behind a couple who had entertained Joan and me on several occasions. The woman, turning and seeing me, grasped my hand and said, "Oh, Ken, we miss Joan so much." Inside, I melted. So do I, I thought. So do I.

Another time I was communicating with a retired couple who have a part-time antiques business. I mentioned that, when our kids were small, I would take a vacation day from work, Joan and I would get a baby-sitter, and we'd head to a little town near St. Louis and spend the day browsing antique shops. The husband responded with an e-mail:

"Our little business now is an outgrowth of our interest in prowling through antique shops, just as you and Joan enjoyed doing. Sounds like you have some wonderful memories of those good times together."

That brief e-mail arrived at the end of a hard day. I read it and reread it, feeling warm inside and remembering the good times with Joan.

Living through the struggle that killed Joan made me sharply aware of the many good ways to care for those who are suffering. I've talked to a lot of grieving people since Joan died, and without exception everyone said he or she would welcome reminiscing about the deceased loved one. They wanted people to remember. They wanted people to say their loved one's name and tell stories about him or her.

I recently asked a friend whose wife had died at age 39 whether people avoided talking to him about her. He said, "People generally didn't know what to say. Only about 5 percent were able to freely reminisce." I then asked him whether he would have liked it if more people talked about his wife. "Definitely," was his response.

You can't go wrong talking with someone about a beloved who has died. People want and need it. Be in that 5 percent.

I promise you this: It's okay for you to talk with me about Joan. More than okay—it's necessary. If I start to cry, that's okay too. More than okay—it's necessary. Why wouldn't I want to talk about Joan? She was my life for over 33 years. I remember her laugh lighting up a whole room at a party. I remember our dancing the twist at our daughter Charity's wedding, and a year later winning a twist contest on a cruise. I remember our nightly walks together with our dog, Maynard, while we discussed the day, our daughters, and everything else.

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