Good Grief!

Charlie Brown knew a thing or two

©Thomas Shanahan via Canva

Each of us has his own rhythm of suffering. – Roland Barthes

I grieve.

Natural enough. But what does that mean? How does grief work? Is it worthy or vile, salutary or hurtful? How much is enough? I check what forebears have said (why I like quote books – instant erudition!). My curiosity’s cursory, not curative. Today’s grief hurts like hell, but I’ll get over it.

Henry assures me grief is a human quirk. Dogs sensibly live in the verifiable present, not comparing this moment to what was or might be. What is is – and that’s that. Grief’s kindled by a sense of loss – of a person, place, time, idea. Oh for elsewhere!

Grief reflects love, another human oddity. Some grief, then, is laudable. You may have known people who died and no one grieved. What a verdict on a life!

We grow into grief. Infants may bawl for mom but they don’t brood. I was eight when first mugged by loss. John Quinn was our groom. He held me on my pony and spoke with an Irish brogue…