Quotes About Grief

This dying & grief stuff knows no boundaries. It doesn't matter if the pain of loss is for a baby, an elderly parent, someone who drops dead at 30, the sorrow & grief doesn't change because of age.

Not only are there many ways to grieve, but showing sorrow, reaching out, being honest about your loss is as important as anything. ... Go kiss someone, go swim naked, go quit the job you hate, go celebrate your own life before it's over. Go. Do something with gusto & gratitude & with a laugh at the back of your throat, a laugh that never ends.

The grieving, she knows, never ends, and all that remains is the miracle of love. And she holds onto that miracle as if to save her life.

The truth is that a lot of these men don't know how to relate to lovers, so they only view women as sisters or mothers. It truly grieves me! I feel so bad for all these daughters who are awakened for love, but are living among boy/men who are asleep to manhood.

My blood pressure surges. Folks, unless you've walked the walk, never tell a widow it's time she moved on.

I needed to mourn my father, that wonderful, sweet, gentle man.

No more bereavement food. I was sick of it. It's funny how time is measured after you've lost someone. Everything relates back to that second your life swerved. The calendar isn't measured by the names of the months or seasons anymore, but by those significant dates. The day we met. The first time we kissed. The first dinner with his family. The anniversary of his death. The date of his funeral.

Well… I dreamed I was alone. I wasn't sure if you were away, or if we were divorced, but it was just me and the girls, and as the dream went on, I realized that you weren't coming back. At first I thought you left me. Then I realized it was because you… died." He waits for my reaction. "I have those dreams about you all the time," I tell him. "Daydreams, I call them.

WAKE UP around three in the morning, knowing immediately that Colonel has died.

She missed her dad with a constant ache. She missed the reassurance, the comfort a good father brings a daughter.

The thing is, when you lose someone like we have...it's like part of your heart is cut out. And you always worry about how much more you can afford to lose.

every day takes you further from the time he was alive, slicing you with the razor-sharp realization that those days would never be celebrated again.

This is Nathan's mother," I said, wiping my eyes with the edge of Ainsley's blanket. "Yes, we've met," Eloise said. "You came to Nathan's wake." Daniel nodded. "Congratulations on your beautiful daughter. Kate..." She turned to me. "It was good to see you, deah.

In the sea of grief, there were islands of grace, moments in time when one could remember what was left rather than all that she had lost. (Night Road, page 384)

We postpone the finality of heartbreak by clinging to hope. Though this might be acceptable during early or transitional stages of grief, ultimately it is no way to live. We need both hands free to embrace life and accept love, and that's impossible if one hand has a death grip on the past.

It's a little hard not to worry when my best friend keeps on dying.

Then, with an enormous rush of meadow-filled wind, the green candle went out, and my best friend died.

In the sea of grief, there were islands of grace, moments in time when one could remember what was left rather than all that had been lost.

You will always miss her. There will be days - even years from now - when the missing will be so sharp it will take your breath away. But there will be good days, too, months and years of them. In one way or another you'll be searching for her all your life.

To those who are here, those who are gone, and those who are lost.

No mother. Two small words, and yet within them lay a bottomless well of pain and loss, a ceaseless mourning for touches that were never received and words of wisdom that were never spoken. No single word was big enough to adequately describe the loss of your mother.

Lately, though, I find myself thinking about the war and my past, about the people I lost. Lost. It makes it sound as if I misplaced my loved ones; perhaps I left them where they don't belong and turned away, too confused to retrace my steps. They are not lost. Nor are they in a better place. They are gone. As I approach the end of my years, I know that grief, like regret, settles into our DNA and remains forever a part of us.

In time, his grief had turned to anger and then drifted toward sorrow, and now, finally, it had settled into a lingering sadness that was a part of him, not the whole.

Lost is lost; it's when you want someone to hold you but there is no one who can. Lost is alone, even when people are all around you.