My first experience with death was when my friend Paul died. He was seventeen when he got hit by a car. After his death, I was standing outside with his five-year-old cousin, who didn't understand where Paul was and why he wasn't coming back.

It was a clear night sky with a lot of stars. I said, " Well, you know, any time you want to talk to Paul, all you've got to do is talk to him." She looked up and said, "See that star right there? That's Paul." I said, "OK, let's talk to him."

So she starts talking: "Paul, why won't you come home? I want you to be here with me. We miss you. It's time to come home, Paul. " I was standing behind her, bawling, and thinking it's so sad that this five-year-old doesn't understand death.

Paul wouldn't listen to her, so she said, "Well, see that star over there? That's Jesus," and she started talking to Jesus, saying that she wanted Paul back now and asking Jesus to send Paul home. She finally decided, "Well, if you're not going to send Paul home, I want you to take care of him until I can come see him."

Ever since then, when I need to talk to Paul, I go outside at night. I find the brightest star in the sky, the star that she pointed to for Paul, and his presence is always there. When my uncle died five years ago, that star came to represent him for me, because he was the most recent loss in my life.

Then when my sister, Sarah, died, the star represented her. I think about her every day, and at night I go outside, I look up, and there she is. It's not a sad thing for me. It's a peaceful thing. I think about what that five-year-old did for me.

She innocently made sense of something that we, as adults, complicate. We all need something that's tangible, something we can see, something we can count on being there after someone dies to help us deal with their death, whether it's a picture we can put up in a room, a grave site that we can visit, or a star. 

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