I feel I have lived a happy life, in general, but some things have thrown me for a loop.

My mother and I traveled in Europe for a couple of months in 1966. I was in graduate school studying French, so I would have the opportunity to practice the spoken language on site.

The trip turned out very well, with our visiting people my mother knew from the time in 1958 or 1959, when she had the great privilege of traveling with a group of four Girl Scouts from the U.S. and two from Canada to Europe, with the final destination of the World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts facility in Adelboden, Switzerland, Our Chalet.

I looked forward to traveling with my mother. We asked Daddy if he would go with us, but he declined saying: "I've been." Indeed, he had, but under less than ideal conditions, as he fought in World War I and served as a translator during World War II.

I won't go into the details of our trip. Suffice it to say, it was a glorious, wonderful, lovely, throw in a few other awesome adjectives, and it fit what a delightful trip we had.

We were delayed in New York City, because the airline we had tickets on to fly home was not flying, due to a strike of its workers. We finally arrived home a day or two later than we expected.

Daddy was waiting for us at our little airport. We hugged and kissed and loaded up the car for the trip home.

My dad was the topic of Day 4, Quiet, but Strong. This story confirms his strength of character.

On the way home, he told us about what had happened a few weeks before our return. He had not notified us of the tragedy, because he knew we were having the trip of a lifetime together.

He was home on a Sunday afternoon, when the phone rang. It was the State Police. They had tried to call my uncle, my mother's brother, to tell him that his wife, daughter-in-law and two of his granddaughters had been killed in an automobile accident.

Because we lived in a small community, they knew Mom was my uncle's sister. So, they called her, but, of course, she wasn't there. Daddy answered it and was the first to hear about the tragedy.

When he told us, both of us broke down in tears. My aunt had had a strong influence on my character. She always supported me, and even was the one who called me when I was about to graduate from college to tell me that Daddy was having a hernia operation. My parents wouldn't tell me, because they didn't want to upset me so close to finals and graduation. She felt I needed to know, and I agreed. She, as the wife of the doctor who would perform the surgery, explained to me that the risk was low, because Daddy was in excellent health. I took her at her word and understood why Daddy couldn't help me carry my boxes out of my dorm room when it came time. I discovered then, that I have a streak of resilience, as my father's daughter.

The conflict and trauma came when people came to visit after our return. They expressed sympathy but wanted to hear about our extended trip. Talk about ups and downs. Mom and I alternated crying and smiling and laughing about our trip. It was exhausting!

We had missed the funeral, so we had not had a true chance to grieve.

Several months later, I met some friends at the movie house near where I was attending graduate school. I don't remember the title of the movie, but I think it was a foreign movie with subtitles. A fiery car crash happened toward the end. I often cry in movies, but this was different. My aunt Dorris had died in a fiery car crash. I burst into tears and wracking sobs, so loud and uncontrollable I had to leave the theater. One of my friends drove me home and spent the night with me because she was so worried about me.

But resilience took hold. Although I continued to be sad about my aunt's death, I could handle it and think about the good things that I would miss about her.

Cathartic crying has stood me in good stead and helped me get over situations that required it. I highly recommend it.