Quotes About Grief

Don't tell me I didn't love him, don't...just don't act like you know what it feels like to lose someone who left without a goodbye. Someone who you spent your days praying to make him smile and then he just leaves, he leaves without a goodbye...

Your not gone yet, but I can feel you slipping, slipping away.

I can't cry..not yet. I can't say goodbye..not yet. I can't lose you..not yet.

The effort of trying to turn grief into regret, to live entirely on past nourishment, even to keep the sharper parts of nostalgia credible (he found himself beginning to doubt and struggle with the intricacies of the smaller memories), and, most of all, the fearful absence of anything that could begin to take their place, had worn him down.

Time does not heal, It makes a half-stiched scar That can be broken and again you feel Grief as total as in its first hour

People have suggested that I have survivor's guilt. I reject that. We all should be alive. What I have is profound sadness and anger that some worthless dirtbag can come along and take away a family's bright and shining light, leaving a gaping hole that is never to be filled.

Surely it's better to be human and live with grief, than outgrow your humanity and learn to raise the dead too late to raise your own.

Grief is the proof of our love, a demonstration of how deeply we have allowed another to touch us.

His grief at your leaving is also his fear of losing the power he has had for lifetimes. Those days are over for him, and he is in turmoil. But if you are to help him on his soul's quest, you will leave him. It is your job--your sacred contract--to free him, and to free yourself.

Let the young rain of tears come, Let the calm hands of grief come. It's not all as evil as you think. —ROLF JACOBSEN

He went on to tell me that before the workshop he hadn't cried for years, even when his father died, even when his wife told him she was leaving. "I am so glad to finally feel something." He sighed, touching his heart. "Even if I have to cry every day for a couple of years, it's better than having a frozen heart." Ever

grief is good—that it is a sign of how well we have loved. And

Too many memories, each one sharper and more painful than the last.

The ground and the air were as nothing to her, for all her life had been plucked out and there was nothing left but the knowledge that it had been taken away.

I want a book that acknowledges that life goes on but that death goes on, too, that a person who is dead is a long, long story. You move on from it, but the death will never disappear from view. Your friends may say, Time heals all wounds. No, it doesn't, but eventually you'll feel better. You'll be yourself again.

I'm so sorry," he said, because after Pamela died, he promised himself that if anyone told him the smallest, saddest story, he would answer, I'm so sorry. Meaning, Yes, that happened. You couldn't believe the people who believed that not mentioning sadness was a kind of magic that could stave off the very sadness you didn't mention – as though grief were the opposite of Rumpelstiltskin and materialized only at the sound of its own name.

Lighter things will happen to you, birds will steal your husband's sandwich on the beach, and your child will still be dead, and your husband's shock will still be funny.

Can I tell you something? It wasn't so bad. Not so bad at all right then, me scowling at the dirt, James in his bed, the way it always always was. Look, if that's all that happened, if his dying just meant that I would be waiting for him to say something instead of listening to him say something, it would have been fine.

Grief, as I understood it - grief and I were acquainted - is the kind of loss that sets you on fire as you struggle to put it out.

It is one kind of trouble to kiss your fiancé good-bye in the morning and immediately turn your thoughts to another man. But it's another kind altogether if the other man has been dead for nine decades, or is of the genus Sciurus.

The truth is, I feel beyond sad. I feel empty. Numb.

Wherever I go, I'll always see you. You'll always be with me. And there's no happy ending coming here, no way a story that started on a night that's burned into my heart will end the way I wish it could. You're really gone, no last words, and no matter how many letters I write to you, you're never going to reply. You're never going to say good-bye. So I will. Good-bye, Julia. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being you.

She became a story, one I have mostly forgotten. One I can't end because she died a long time ago.

Anger can try to break your heart, but sorrow is what will. What can. What does.