I’ve been thinking a lot about a photo recently. It was taken in southern Turkey after the horrific earthquakes left the area devastated. In the photo, a father sits next to a pile of rubble that contains the body of his daughter who had been killed. He is holding her hand. The rest of her body is trapped under debris. It’s a haunting, gut-wrenching image.

I kept going back to look at it. It resonated with me and touched on so many feelings that are constantly swirling in my head these days. I’m not comparing my situation to his; our losses are clearly different. Last August, our son Henry passed away from complications brought on by a neurological condition called Rett Syndrome, which he valiantly fought for almost seven years.

When I look at that photo of the dad in Turkey, I am reminded that the innate desire to have physical contact with your child is universal from the moment they are born — and if they tragically die before you do, when they are dead as well.

[This is a heartbreaking story from the wife of NBC News foreign correspondent Richard Engel. It’s well worth the read. I’ll be keeping the Engels in my prayers. — Ed]