A few days before Thanksgiving, my oldest son, Lee, was found dead in his home by his younger brother, John.

Within minutes, my wife, Mary and I and another son, Patrick, were there with John. As we stood in front of Lee's house, we were joined by more of Lee's siblings, Laura, Tim, Maggie, Michaela, Jennifer, and also his mother, Patricia. Patricia and I had been married for only a few years and have been divorced for 40 years.

We still conversed occasionally, mostly about Lee, and she had recently been attending holidays at our home due to the gracious generosity and kindness of Mary. Our two youngest children, Katie and Connor, who were away at college, kept in constant touch by cell phone.

We all stood in the windy dampness for over three hours and finally Lee was brought out of the house and placed in a conveyance. Lee's journey had ended, but ours was only beginning.

That course took us through countless hours of pain, turmoil, despair and maybe even some needless drama, yet one very significant outcome became laboriously clear.

We all, every member of my family, saw things in a different light. Perspectives of what was, had been, or maybe even wasn't, all came to the forefront in countless hours of retrospection and getting re-acquainted with those we thought we knew so well for so many years.

Don't misunderstand and think we did not grieve for Lee. He was my oldest son, my lovely baby boy, father of three himself, a good man. My personal sorrow was intense.

How could this have happened? I have always had a pact with the Good Lord to take me first, not my children. This was not the way it was supposed to be. Clichés notwithstanding, parents weren't supposed to bury their children. We all know that, yet it was happening. Truly, the most horrific of horrors. My loss was devastating. All of my children, his brothers and sisters, were crushed to the point of tears and despair.

But all things being said and done, we realized that just as Lee had human frailties, so did we. Long hours and days together brought this fact home hard and clear. We didn't always agree on every facet of what had happened to us and why. We did agree to disagree and that simple fact made us a stronger, tighter and more close-knit family.

Because of the holiday, the usual rites of a death in the family — wake, memorial service and ultimately burial — were drawn out for more than a week. This, of course, magnified and extended the mourning period much longer than any human being could be expected to withstand.

We met daily and consoled, cajoled, counseled and comforted one another. We laughed heartily and cried despairingly. Our bond was tempered in grief and though the chain was temporarily weakened by the loss of Lee, the other links joined and made the smaller chain stronger, unbreakable.

Lee will be sorely missed by all. I know I will carry the emptiness in my heart until my time comes. But this fact is indisputable: our family has grown and matured. Thanks, Lee, your ultimate sacrifice has made us love one another, and you, even more.

Michael Johnson is a retired law enforcement officer, who enjoys spending time with his 10 children and 22 grandchildren.