I saw her mind racing. We were around the same age. She took in my long, dark hair, my mostly wrinkle-free face, my skinny jeans... It's not that I look so young, but I don't "look like" a widow. She covered her heart with her hands, I saw her struggle to come up with the "right thing" to say. "Yours is worse!" she uttered. If grief is a contest, I guess I win.