Mary Oliver doesn't counsel acceptance of loss—she's describing something harder: the willingness to love *precisely because* things end, not despite it. The second condition, holding mortality against your bones, isn't metaphorical resignation; it's an active, almost defiant embrace of what will vanish. What separates this from mere stoicism is her insistence that loving mortal things and releasing them aren't opposing forces but partners in the same act—a parent who cherishes each stage of a child's growth, knowing each one will slip away, understands what she means. The wisdom here isn't in learning to let go painlessly, but in recognizing that the pain itself proves the love was real and worth the cost.