What if Dr Seuss wrote a book about grief?

Thanatologist Cheryl Amari from www.griefteach.com has penned this wonderful poem.

If Dr. Seuss wrote a book on grief, I imagine it would read something like this:
One grief. Two grief.
My grief. Your grief.
Oh, the losses you’ll grieve!
Can you count them on one hand?
Or do they spread across miles of land?

Could they, would they make you sad?
Or lonely or guilty or even mad?

Grieve them! Grieve them! One and all
Grieve the large ones and the small
Grieve the short ones and the tall
Grieve the loss of your favorite doll
The toy that broke; the missing ball
Grieve that embarrassing fall
Or when he made a promise but did not call

Grieve when your very best chum
Told other people you were stupid and dumb.

Grieve the disappointments, disillusions, failures, and rejection.
Grieve when you try to be perfect only to face utter imperfection.

Grieve high, grieve low
Grieve wherever you go.

From Whoville to Plainville and in between,
Whether the death of a loved one or a ruptured spleen.

How will you grieve your loss today?
Will you grieve it all alone? In a group? On the phone?
Will you talk to your friend Gary? Or Annie or Bill or Mr. McLarry?

Will you run or hike or walk really fast?
Paint or sing or sail with a mast?

Try as you might things will never be the same.
“New normal” they say (but that can sound lame).

You may not like your grief, not one bit.
Not when you stand, not when you sit.
Not when you’re calm or having a fit.

Too many losses can leave your head spinning.
Who would rather be losing when they can be winning?

Good grief, they say, is the recipe for survival.
Five stages they tell us, starting with denial.

But you can’t sum up grief so neatly into slots,
As if we’re not human but merely robots.
Grief is messy, unpredictable, wobbly and shaky.
It can leave you feeling confused, forgetful (or even a bit flaky).

Oh, the losses you’ll grieve in your youth and through the years,
Through fears, cheers (and perhaps a few tears).

When we grieve well we live well. That is a fact.
I can say it again rudely or I can say it with tact.

“Life is like a box of chocolates,” Forest Gump said on the bench.
Sometimes you smell the roses and other times just the stench.

Time is funny in grief. The motion is slow.
It can feel like yesterday (even if it was 10 years ago).

You can’t hurry grief; can’t bypass what you’re feeling.
A brief grief won’t bring relief, only delay in your healing.

Some days you’re up and others you’re down,
Your grief is still with you but in it you won’t drown.

You’ll learn from your losses (as I did too),
Compassion, forgiveness, perhaps a dance step (or two!).

One thing I know that will keep us on track,
Love is the gift that keeps giving back.
The Whos down in Whoville knew this to be true
(even the Grinch had somewhat of a clue).

When we change for the better and work through our pain
That’s how we know our loss is not in vain.

Oh, the losses you’ll grieve when you are bereft.
Just get up every morning and walk (right foot then left).

And soon you will find you had it in you all along,
To heal from your loss and realize you are strong.