Quotes About Grief

Hey, Daddy," she whispered. It was a split second before she realized that she'd expected an answer. But, of course, there wasn't one. His heart—the one that had loved her so well—had finally given up.

If she opened her mouth she might start screaming. Or if she looked at him she might cry, might demand to know how it was that children could be shot in the dark for nothing.

She'd even thought she was ready for it—this beginning of the end—but now she saw her naïveté. There was no "ready" for death, especially not when it came for a young man you loved.

It is not so much about who my father was, this advice; it is what life is about. What death does to you. When I look down, of course she is not moving, her skin is cold, and I know she did not really speak to me. But she did. And so I do what I must. I stand up, feeling out my new role. I am a motherless daughter now, a sisterless woman. There is no one left of the family I was born into; there is only the family I have made.

even years from now—when the missing will be so sharp it takes 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. You'll find her, too. As you grow up, you'll understand her more and more. I promise you that.

You will always miss her. I know that from experience. There will be days—even years from now—when the missing will be so sharp it takes 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. You'll find her, too. As you grow up, you'll understand her more and more. I promise you that.

The truth is, I knew loss. I didn't know grief. Now, I do.

Now it would never happen; she would never get to know her father, never feel the warmth of his hand in hers, never fall asleep on the divan beside him, never be able to say all that needed to be said between them. Those words were lost, turned into ghosts that would drift away, unsaid. They would never be the family maman had promised. "Papa," she said; it was such a big word suddenly, a dream in its entirety.

Vianne knelt down beside Sarah, she felt for a pulse and found none. The silence turned sour, thick; all Vianne could think about was the sound of this child's laughter and how empty the world would be without it.

loss had rearranged her from the inside out. Now she knew how much family mattered and how important it was to hang on to the people you loved.

Matthew grieved for the mother he'd had. He figured Leni would grieve for the dad she wanted.

She knew about death, about the grief that ripped you apart and left you broken forever.

When he finally found the words to express himself, his grief had shown itself to be bottomless, terrifying.

She'd crawled into her grief and cocooned it around her, unable to care about anyone or anything—

I love you, Papa," she said quietly, realizing how true it was, how true it had always been. Love had turned into loss and she'd pushed it away, but somehow, impossibly, a bit of that love had remained. A girl's love for her father. Immutable. Unbearable but unbreakable.

apparently there was an expiration date on grief. It was like an exterior door closing; once it shut and you were in the dark, you were supposed to forget how much you missed the light

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 then 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.

I love you, Papa," she said quietly, realizing how true it was, how true it had always been. Love had turned into loss and she'd pushed it away, but somehow, impossibly, a bit of that love had remained. A girl's love for her father. Immutable. Unbearable but unbreakable.

I never really knew the weight of sorrow before, how it stretches you out like an old, wet sweater.

Forever. That's how long we'll have an empty place at the table.

Grief is a sneaky thing, always coming and going like some guest you didn't invite and can't turn away.

Elsa felt tears rise up, overtake her. She cried as she hadn't cried since Rafe left her, cried until there was no moisture left inside of her, until she was as dry as the land they'd left behind.

Grief this deep was a silent, lonely thing.

Leni's heart would always have a broken place. It didn't matter how you lost a parent or how great or shitty that parent was, a kid grieved forever. Matthew grieved for the mother he'd had. He figured Leni would grieve for the dad she wanted.