Quotes About Grief

Lost love is still love, Eddie. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those scenes weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it. Life has to end, she said. Love doesn't.

When the news came that his father had died—slipped away, a nurse told him, as if he had gone out for milk—Eddie felt the emptiest kind of anger, the kind that circles in its cage. Like most workingmen's sons, Eddie had envisioned for his father a heroic death to counter the commonness of his life.

He told me a story. A man buried his wife. At the gravesite he stood by the Reb, tears falling down his face. "I loved her," he whispered. The Reb nodded. "I mean… I really loved her." The man broke down. "And… I almost told her once." The Reb looked at me sadly. "Nothing haunts like the things we don't say.

Mom?" I whispered. I hadn't said it in so long. When death takes your mother, it steals that word forever

He draped himself in her sad memory, because it was the closest thing to having her around.

When someone passes, Benjamin, people always ask, 'Why did God take them? A better question would be 'Why did God give them to us?' What did we do to deserve their love, their joy, the sweet moments we shared?

Have you ever lost someone you love and wanted one more conversation, one more chance to make up for the time when you thought they would be here forever? If so, then you know you can go your whole life collecting days, and none will outweigh the one you wish you had back. What if you got it back?

That death doesn't just take someone, it mosses someone else, and in that small distance between being taken and being missed, lives are changed.

You lose something every day you live, Annie. Sometimes it's as tiny as the breath you just expelled, sometimes it's so big you think you won't survive it." He took her left hand. "But you do, right?

But life is not a board game, and losing a loved one is never really "starting over." More like "continuing without.

and that's the thing when your parents die, you feel like instead of going into every fight with backup, you are going into every fight alone

Four years? She'd been gone from this world as long as she'd been in it.

brother had done. He pushes the boots to one side and

You do not know your own beauty, you struggle in grief, but I, I have seen it all, and I know: You yourself are the secret essence.

Saeed prayed a great deal, and so did his father, and so did their guests, and some of them wept, but Saeed had wept only once, when he first saw his mother's corpse and screamed, and Saeed's father wept only when he was alone in his room, silently, without tears, his body seized as though by a stutter, or a shiver, that would not let go, for his sense of loss was boundless, and his sense of the benevolence of the universe was shaken, and his wife had been his best friend.

Saeed's father wept only when he was alone in his room, silently, without tears, his body seized as though by a stutter, or a shiver, that would not let go, for his sense of loss was boundless, and his sense of the benevolence of the universe was shaken, and his wife had been his best friend.

Anders knew he would soon lose his father, and that impending loss seemed more concrete now, more real, not like air but like a door or a wall, something you could bang against, bang into, and of course children know they will lose their parents, they know it from early on, but most are able to believe that that particular present will not come, that it is years away....

he said when his mother was dying he had been certain she would not die, certain until he was not certain, and when he finally knew she was dying, was not sick but dying, he saw how much she wanted to live, until the pain took that from her, and she wanted to go, or did not want to go, but needed to go, needed to go even more than she wanted to stay, and he had not been ready for that, for his mother to need to leave, and it was a terrible thing to see.

Suffice to say that theirs had been an unusual love, with such a degree of commingling of identities that when Chris died, erica felt she had lost herself; even now she did not know if she could be found p.104

There is no more Angel!

She died that evening and left me, in Louise fashion, sitting in ten kinds of dark.

It took years for me to know this, to see how loss can tighten your grip on the things still possible to hold.

As if in grief, the bamboos were pressed to the ground. But within a matter of minutes, they nodded and waved. They shook off the rain and reoriented themselves toward the sky. My mother was impressed, indeed. Now that , she thought, is strength. Perseverance and flexibility are not opposites. Survival requires certain compromises. Endurance is defined by the last one standing. These were the lessons, I imagine, that she must have learned. My mother resolved to be the last one standing.

El desear y el gozar nos llevan al mismo dolor