Quotes About Grief

I will never take anything away from Pantera. It was great; we had fourteen amazing years together. But it's no longer here. My brother is no longer here.

When you've lost a baby, everyone around you expects you to be fine once the new baby is born, as though that somehow takes away the pain of losing the first child. I needed to express how wrong that was.

I miss my parents. But still, my granddaughter, my daughter, my grandma, you know, so it's very important for me. You lost your parents, but a new baby comes. It's like the cycle of fashion.

It's a hard thing to imagine how somebody copes with grief and at the same time has to build a new life.

The loss of a child is my greatest nightmare.

I still have dreams about Hillsborough. Well, nightmares, anyway.

'Blue Nights' is a story of loss: simple, wrenching, inconsolable loss.

The Bible says that as Christians we don't grieve the same way people do who have no hope of eternity and of Heaven - but we still grieve.

They which have no hope of a life to come, may extend their griefs for the loss of this, and equal the days of their mourning with the years of the life of man.

The sands in the hourglass have fallen without mercy throughout my life, but I try to remind myself of the blessed years that we shared—especially now, when I am drowning in riptides of sorrow and loss.

A pit rises in my stomach, hard and full. My breathing stops for a moment, then starts again, this time shallower. My mouth goes dry, and I feel my heart pounding. It is over, I know, and I am right.

It's a terrible thing to outlive your child, a tragedy I wish upon no one.

but I try to remind myself of the blessed years that we shared—especially now, when I am drowning in riptides of sorrow and loss.

Aside from the brief period after Victor's death, sleep

Rather often I am asked whether the grief remains as intense as when I wrote. The answer is, No. The wound is no longer raw. But it has not disappeared. That is as it should be. If he was worth loving, he is worth grieving over. Grief is existential testimony to the worth of the one loved. That worth abides. So I own my grief. I do not try to put it behind me, to get over it, to forget it… Every lament is a love-song.

Why are the photographs of him as a little boy so incredibly hard to look at? Something is over. Now instead of those shiny moments being things we can share together in delighted memories, I, the survivor, have to bear them alone. So it is with all the memories of him. They all lead into blackness. All I can do is remember him, I cannot experience him. Nothing new can happen between us.

Don't say it's not really so bad. Because it is. Death is awful, demonic. If you think your task as comforter is to tell me that really, all things considered, it's not so bad, you do not sit with me in my grief but place yourself off in the distance away from me. Over there, you are of no help.

I shall look at the world through tears. Perhaps I shall see things that dry-eyed I could not see.

A friend said, "Remember, he's in good hands." I was deeply moved. But that reality does not put Eric back in my hands now. That's my grief. For that grief, what consolation can there be other than having him back?

But the pain of the no more outweighs the gratitude of the once was. Will it always be so? I didn't know how much I loved him until he was gone. Is love like that?

IT'S so WRONG, so profoundly wrong, for a child to die before its parents. It's hard enough to bury our parents. But that we expect. Our parents belong to our past, our children belong to our future. We do not visualize our future without them. How can I bury my son, my future, one of the next in line? He was meant to bury me!

I'm riding beside my best friend, and I tell him, in the same offhand tone my mother had used, That's my grandfather's funeral, and he looks at me as if I'm insane.

It's the way I walk through the world, carrying that fear, that the beloved will go, will die, and that I will be the one to blame.

I burst into tears and I cry and cry until it feels as though it is not salt and water being squeezed from my eyes, but blood.