I remember the first time I experienced the helpless lesson of loss.  My family and I had just returned from an outing at some American "food" establishment, and I had acquired a Mr. Peanut balloon which became my pride and joy.  I was only 4 years old, but I clearly remember the lucky feeling I experienced over sole ownership of this object.  My father, ever so gently yet firmly, tethered the string holding the balloon around my tiny wrist.  I couldn't wait to get home and show all the kids in the cul-de-sac what a winner I was!  But, somewhere between our car and the front door, the string - tied so diligently around my wrist - loosened and wiggled itself free of my possession.  Before I knew it, Mr. Peanut went sailing gracefully up, up, up and away into the blue June sky.  I screamed, "Oh no! Daddy, help!"  But, nothing could be done.  I stood there completely helpless as I watched my newly cherished item grow smaller and smaller above my little head.  And there was NOTHING anyone could do to bring Mr. Peanut home. No strong daddy, no act of faith, no bargaining tool and no passionate bedtime prayer could bring him back to me.  Much like future lost love, he was gone - forever in the ether.  

I experienced my first bittersweet taste of grief and acceptance on that balmy summer day, and it definitely wouldn't be my last. 
Welcome to humanity, kid.