I wonder if the owner of Barbaro, the magnificent racehorse who touched so many hearts, knew what a profound statement she made in acknowledging the sadness of his passing.

"Grief is the price we all pay for love."

I can't forget it.

I think I will gladly pay it if I have had the privilege of loving a person, an animal, a time, a space, a memory.

Yes, even a horse I never knew or touched and knew only by his skills and the brave fight for his life.

His passing now reminds us.

There is no apology for grieving when we have loved. It comes due more than once in our lifetimes, and it's never easy.

The veterinarian who tended to Barbaro and saw him almost every day, showed his emotions -- his love -- as he grieved without shame on national television.

In my sadness for the loss of a horse, I am not forgetting the deaths of soldiers and civilians in this frightful war. Or in wars past. Or in terrorists' attacks. Hopefully there is someone to grieve for everyone and every animal that has lived.

The saying, "to have loved and lost" comes to mind. But to never have loved at all, that would be the tragedy.

We can love a house, large or small, and we can love a teapot which, when it falls from its perch and breaks, causes us to cry.

We grieve for times gone by and even seasons we love.

I'm thinking about grief and love combined as Valentine's Day approaches and our hearts skip a beat thinking of someone we love.

But loving isn't always in the romantic, hearts and flowers tradition.

My father, who had been with the First Evacuation Hospital in New Guinea and had seen death many times, grieved openly years ago when our dog was lost and he feared the worst. Simply because he loved her. And he cried when she was found.

A friend's dog was recently run over by a car. She is grieving. She apologizes for it, but she shouldn't.

A friend is tending her aging and ill cat and canceled a vacation to be with him. She anticipates the loss of a companion of 20 years.

When my dear friend, Nancy French, passed away suddenly last month, I paid the price for loving her, along with her family and friends. We grieved.

She had grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We were there to honor her life, but in doing so I was reminded how important she had been in my life.

Nancy had shared raising my son, Drew, for the first 12 of his 36 years. She shared his life after that too, of course, but not on a daily basis as she had during his childhood.

We were single mothers who needed each other. I spoke at her funeral at Mt. Olive Baptist Church, proud to be considered part of her family, and worried I could not get through the words without sobbing, in my grief, while remembering, and saying goodbye, her white coffin, and her only daughter, in front of me.

A little friend of Drew's had once asked Nancy, who was black, if she was Drew's mother. She used to tell me that Drew would eventually ask why her skin was dark. He never did.

My son, whom she always referred to as "my baby," sent words for me to read at her funeral:

"When I was too "cool" to give Nancy a kiss, she'd kiss me on the cheek and give me a hug, tell me she loved me and was proud of me.

"She was a blessing to our family and I can honestly say I would not be the man I am today if it were not for her love and her role in our family. I love you Nancy. I know you are in a better place and will always be my guardian angel."

Love knows no color. I embrace the grief my son and I are feeling for love of a friend now gone.

Never be ashamed to grieve. It means you have loved. There's no greater gift.