Quotes About Loss

I'm less interested in death itself than in people whose lives are touched by it.

As a teenager, I had been growing away from the beliefs of the church, but one of the main things that caused me to question Christian Science was that the year that I left home to go to college, a boy who I knew in my Sunday School, whose name was Michael Schram, who was 12 years old, died at home of a ruptured appendix.

My parents were ambitious people, my father especially, whose entire life was devoted to rising above, but his ambitions were defeated long before death finished them off, and so when he died, he came back to where he started, but he didn't come back home, because there was no home to come back to.

I mean, whose songs don't focus on tragedy and loss?

We should never forget the inevitable, as we will lose everything eventually. So, why fret over any kind of security? The idea is to just fly and experience it all while it lasts.

There were times when close people... Some of my closest friends have left me. People hurt me, so everything fell apart. I didn't feel like I had anyone on my side or anyone who could understand me. So that's why I completely fell apart.

There is no one on earth who knew you from the day you were born; who knew why you cried, or when you'd had enough food; who knew exactly what to say when you were hurting; and who encouraged you to grow a good heart. When that layer goes, whatever is left of your childhood goes with her.

My father started growing very quiet as Alzheimer's started claiming more of him. The early stages of Alzheimer's are the hardest because that person is aware that they're losing awareness. And I think that that's why my father started growing more and more quiet.

With two leftover husbands to account for, my wicked soul has just about shriveled and died.

Emotional grandeur, rendered in the vernacular, has been Mona Simpson's forte. In her novels, 'Anywhere but Here,' 'The Lost Father' and 'A Regular Guy,' Simpson wrote wide and long and high about the most profound human bonds: parents and children lost each other, found each other, lost each other again, but differently.

Our particular problem in America at this point in history is the widespread loss of the sense of individual significance, a loss which is sensed inwardly as impotence.

My family background really only consists of my mother. She was a widow. My father died quite young; he must have been thirty-one. Then there was my twin brother and my sister. We had two aunts as well, my father's sisters. But the immediate family consisted of my mother, my brother, my sister, and me.

Memory, in widow's weeds, with naked feet stands on a tombstone.

I have talked to Debbie Hammond quite a bit, Jim Hammond's wife, his widow. I've seen their kids. And last time we played Dallas, a lot of them came over. It's hard for them to come see the show. It's still hard.

For many women, becoming a widow does not just mean the heartache of losing a husband, but often losing everything else as well.

I would suggest the widow do things the husband used to do, so he seems to be there with you. You will feel like just going to bed. It's so wonderful, going to bed.

I was a campaign widow.

I did not want to make the widow record. I still haven't made the widow record.

I have a very interesting story to tell, and people always want to hear about it. They know I'm a 9/11 widow, and I always get comments on that and being an actor and raising my daughters by myself.

The idea of being a widow brings the thought of your husband dying. I don't really feel that way. I have higher confidence in life after that transition. That's my thought. That's how I feel. I want to keep him alive.

A lot of widows feel that they have betrayed their spouse by continuing to live. It's deranged thinking. I know that, but that doesn't stop you feeling it.

After the abrupt death of my mother, Jane, on Sept. 5, 1991, of a disease called amyloidosis, my dad took up golf at 57. He and my mother had always played tennis - a couples' game of mixed doubles and tennis bracelets and Love-Love. But in mourning, Dad turned Job-like to golf, a game of frustration and golf widows and solitary hours on the range.

Next door, there's an old man who lived to his nineties and one day passed away in his sleep. And his wife, she stayed for a couple of days and passed away. I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong.

The wife's run off with the bloke next door. I do miss him.