Do not measure your loss by itself; if you do, it will seem intolerable; but if you will take all human affairs into account you will find that some comfort is to be derived from them. (Saint Basil)
This poem has been in my file since my oldest granddaughter has been small. Yes, I choose the positive. However, it is a choice, not a feeling. An uphill climb is a sweaty uphill climb. Lately, I notice a lot of jagged rocks. Peace to all. Eventually.
EXPERIENCE
It contains puzzle parts made of fear, pain,
celebration, growth, loss, gain. The parts leak
inside, swell the pores and form leathery ripples
as time passes. They are never fully decoded.
I recall the last warmth of a friend’s embrace.
Buried now, she can no longer speak in earth terms.
I read the notice too late and never said goodbye.
Experience can’t fit inside a single life time.
Over generations, it mingles, swells. I watch
my granddaughter play. And pray she sees
more joy than sorrow.
Time embraces all, teaches few, keeps no one.
Love makes experience worthwhile.
I kneel, bless my next generation, and join
my first grandchild as she discovers the world,
one bright colored block at a time.