It is for the little one I grieve – confused, with no way to understand a world beyond comprehension. A world she walked alone. No one would understand. No one was curious enough see. No one would be bothered with her silenced experience. She knew better, knew in speaking she would be more alone than in bearing up. She made it through. All of the years. She does not know how. I do not know how. I do not know why. It is for the older one I grieve – caught in a cycle of fix, heal, make up for, come through … somehow. Finding choices made a half century later still governed by tracks laid down so long ago. For so long her effort was spent fighting for life and then the deep knowing she fought against it with as much strength and less awareness. Not knowing another way. I grieve for the choices – from where they were born to the life they created and the confusion of waking to them. I grieve for all who suffer in similar ways. I grieve for all who suffer. In the end, I simply grieve and feel life and welcome it with open arms.