Our anger is poisoning us. Here’s what I learned after my son died.

I think back to that group who gathered in our living room on and off for weeks after Andrew died.

Many wonderful people — from across the political spectrum — converged to help us during that time. They worked together to care for us, talking with civility and empathy about events and movies and even politics. They were worried we would give in to rage and despair following Andrew’s death, so somehow, as a group, they held up a light.

I’m not so naive that I think asking people to behave the way they do at a funeral will solve the problems of the world. Yet there is value in knowing what’s possible. We were stretched with grief to a point where, I’m told, it looked as if we might just disappear. So those around us accommodated. They treated us with steady kindness, because we were frightened and mortal. But so, ultimately, is everyone.