measuring loss

Sometimes I don't share with people at what gestation Kathleen was born. I just say she was born prematurely. They don't understand she was a fully developed baby. How can they? They didn't see her. Her little but perfect body. Perfect fingers and toes. Oh how I treasure those prints. How do we measure loss? In time? The lady I met at the playground the other day who lost her daughter at age 16, has she suffered a greater loss than me? Or my friend who lost a baby at 12 weeks, has she suffered a lesser loss than me? Do we take into the consideration that she had been trying for 10 years when we measure her loss? Or how about my friend who lost a baby at 6 weeks, but for the sixth time. Or is my loss in fact greater than the lady I met in the park because I didn't get to experience 16 years with my daughter? No, loss can not be measured. Not in time. Not in amounts. Not in any sort of way. A loss is a loss. A loss of dreams. A loss of hopes. A loss of a child.