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Weighing Grief

Have been reading Emily Dickinson recently and can't have enough. Particularly loved these lines from her poem I Measure Every Grief I Meet

 I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, eyes –
I wonder if It weighs like Mine –
Or has an Easier size.

 I wonder if They bore it long –
Or did it just begin –
I could not tell the Date of Mine –
It feels so old a pain –

 Perhaps grief turns into source of strength when we believe ours was old and heavy - more than most. So we seek assurances that it has exceptional qualities that justify the depths of our pain. Reading this reminded me of a woman I once worked with- a single mom with more than her fair share of struggles but remarkably vivacious. T was an inspiration to me always - taught me to deal better with my own problems; not make them bigger than they needed to be.

 She lost her only son in a car accident - she was with him at the time and survived. I met her again a good decade after this event and she had miraculously regained some of who she once was - the person who light up the room and made people laugh until their sides hurt. I am fortunate to have known her. 

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