I can still see the amber sunset and the Statue of Liberty through the newly-wedded paned-glass of Windows on the World that Sunday evening three weeks before the Towers fell. We left the wedding dozens of roses in hand the bride and groom needed not there was such a surfeit. That view I experienced is a sight that now exists for birds alone and, perchance, a lingering spirit or two; or, if the fates be cruel, a whispered echo of that golden-haired bartender's gorgeous smile.
In a story told in many traditions and versions; a man is crouched over the ground at night under a lamppost obviously looking for something. A passerby asks, "Have you lost something?", "Yes, my key," he says. "Did you lose it here?" "No", he says, "over there, but there's light over here."
Pythagoras asks that we not let a friend go lightly, for whatever reason. Instead, we should stay with a friend as long as we can, until we're compelled to abandon him completely against our will. It's a serious thing to toss away money, but to cast aside a person is even more serious. Nothing in human life is more rarely found, nothing more dearly possessed. No loss is more chilling or more dangerous than that of a friend.
All I know from my own experience is that the more loss we feel the more grateful we should be for whatever it was we had to lose. It means that we had something worth grieving for. The ones I'm sorry for are the ones that go through life not knowing what grief is.