Quotes About Loss

For me, America was a place to bury my memories. For Baba, a place to mourn his.

Good-bye, Mariam." And, with that, unaware that she is weeping

Now I was free to do as I wished, but I found the freedom illusory, for what I wished for the most had been taken from me. -Nabi

It Does not Frighten Me To Leave This Life That My Only Son Left Five Years Ago, This Life That Insist We Bear Sorrow Upon Sorrow Long After We Can Bear No More. No I Believe I Shall Gladly Take My Leave When The Time Comes. What Frightens Me Is The Day God Summon Me Before Him And Asks. How Shall I Explain Myself To Him. What Will Be My Defense For Not Heeding His Commads.

Death had kissed her long and hard with its frozen lips, and her body was stiff. I held her in my arms, hoping the warmth of my body could bring her back to life. Ignoring my brother's presence, I wept uncontrollably. With Lulu in my arms, I walked toward the front lawn. I had chosen a burial site for Lulu - a strip of land under the cherry tree overlooking the street.

For the remainder of her days, my grandmother lay in bed, staring past the window into space. It was if a part of her mind had died before her body had time to give up.

The biggest danger, that of losing oneself, can pass off in the world as quietly as if it were nothing; every other loss, an arm, a leg, five dollars, a wife, etc. is bound to be noticed.

To hell with your warm hands sliding inside my shirt and your tongue down my throat like an oxygen tube. Cover me in black plastic. Let the mourners through.

She had died at age twelve, and by now she was nothing but the memory of love-- nothing, now, but bones.

Grief, it seemed, was a physical place.

There was in the mountains, and perhaps in the world at large, a theory of compensation that held that for everything given something else was immediately and visibly lost. Well, you've got the smarts even if your cousin did get the looks. Compliments, seductive as flowers, thorny with their opposites: Yes, you may be smart but you sure are ugly; You may look nice but you didn't get a brain. Compensation; balance in the universe.

she had only made things worse. His angry eyes met hers in the mirror, and she remembered his soft plump infant hand pressed against her cheek, his laughter trilling through the rooms. Another boy altogether, that child. Where had he gone?

When he reached the desk he handed Caroline a photograph in a dark blue cardboard frame. It was a portrait, black and white, faintly tinted. The woman looking out wore a pale peach sweater. Her hair was gently waved, her eyes a deep shade of blue. Rupert Dean's wife, Emelda, dead now for twenty years. She was te love of my life, he announced to Caroline, his voice so loud that people looked up.

But now she dreamed every night of lost things.

Grown now, he stood in a train station or on the sidewalk beneath fluttering leaves or strode across a street. He paused in front of shop windows, or reached into his pocket for a ticket, or shaded his eyes against the sun. He'd grown from her body and now, astonishingly, he moved through the world without her. She

This is what I used to think, that some people were simply good and others were not, and that I, of course, was good. But now I think instead that evil is a force in the world, a force that seeks, and it finds its way into our lives through anger and loss, through sadness and betrayal, like mold on bread, like rot on an apple, it takes hold.

We were innocent once. How could it have gone so bad?

Wait until the sun sets tonight, and if we are both here to see it, then my heart will break knowing you are safe and yet not to be mine. If you are gone, then my heart will break knowing that God has taken you home..." Gordian Pierce

People die, Rachel, Ceri said, her cheeks flushing. Not if I can help it, I snapped. And not of a broken heart. If you could, I'd be dead already.

I'd given up on the white picket fence after Kisten had died—finding out my kids would be demons was the nail in the coffin.

Say what?" Jenks blurted out. "You think those moss wipes are coming back?" "I wish," I muttered. "I've got some serious hurt with their name on it.

Vampires and five-year-olds played by the same rules, and both threw tantrums when they lost.

As my hand found his, bitter salt tears spilled from my eyes, in sorrow and pain and regret that I had so utterly failed him.

It hurts," he whispered, his hands falling to his sides. "All the time. Even when I try." Tears warmed my eyes, and I pulled back so I could look at him. "It will stop one day," I said as I gave his shoulders a squeeze. "Even without your trying, and then you'll feel guilty. After that, you'll wake up one morning, remember her, and smile.