Quotes About Loss

That's the thing with dementia. If you're with somebody who has a serious illness, you can usually talk to them, have a laugh every now and then - the person is still with you. With dementia, there's no conversation; there's no togetherness, no sharing.

My mother, who died aged 82, had Alzheimer's. Losing your memory is bad enough, but everything shuts down. You can't remember how to eat or go to the toilet. It's a terrible disease and so distressing to watch it take over someone you love.

As he grew older, his material was just as relevant and just as exciting and the band's just as killer... It seems surreal that there's no more Tom Petty, in person.

And why just then, why that moment was the moment in which she understood quite suddenly her own death, she couldn't say. Simply, she saw how he would miss her.

matter how well you take care of the dying, no matter if you sit beside them every minute, every day—in the end they must go, and you stay.

No matter how well you take care of the dying, no matter if you sit beside them every minute, every day—in the end they must go, and you stay. And you wave them off. You lie.

All love stories beget ghost stories.

Bombers flew above the wattles, over an England filled with songs of linnets and thrush. There were things being broken we had no American names for.

Things, since you left, have not gone well with me: they have taken me from a place where there was gin to a place where there is no gin[.]

The loss of cultural memory is a kind of death, for culture is sustained by memory. We do not have to accept others' narrow understanding of our meanings.

Details tend to be the first casualty of reproduction.

That was the thing. You never got used to it, the idea of someone being gone. Just when you think it's reconciled, accepted, someone points it out to you, and it just hits you all over again, that shocking.

That was the thing. You never got used to it, the idea of someone being gone. Just when you think it's reconciled, accepted, someone points it out to you, and it just hits you all over again, that shocking.

Some people, they can't just move on, you know, mourn and cry and be done with it. Or at least seem to be. But for me... I don't know. I didn't want to fix it, to forget. It wasn't something that was broken. It's just...something that happened. And like that hole, I'm just finding ways, every day, of working around it. Respecting and remembering and getting on at the same time.

Missing rubs the soul raw.

And the air was rent with cries of the living glaring at the rotted bones and rags of their kin and friends just a-swingin in the winds circling about the land, and pulling the bones and rags--some crumbling and dry, some still squirming with the worms eating away at them--from those once mighty roots, and putting them back in the gaping holes.

But even though Victor wasn't the sun in my sky anymore, he was still the moon and several important stars.

You've been wondering lately when the moment is that somebody is truly lost to you.

Personal effects: how irrelevant they are, how sad, how lost, how vagrant, without the force that gives them purpose.

Blue that was unstable and misbehaved when left in skin. Blue like the sea that had taken his father. Blue, for his mother's sake, and for the true colour of every bereaved and bloodless heart when it is collapsing.

Red, brown, yellow, green, black. Five colours to say everything that could be said. And what Cy suddenly wanted, more than anything in the world just then, what he wanted was that missing blue, primary and resistant to the trade. Blue that was unstable and misbehaved when left in skin. Blue like the sea that had taken his father. Blue, for his mother's sake, and for the true colour of every bereaved and bloodless heart when it is collapsing.

I did not contact my father. He had another family; he was a stranger. I'd been raised, capably and neglectfully, by a borrowed woman and her shadow. I lay on Naomi's bed in the empty cottage, comforted by the hollow in her pillow, my face soaked. It was the beginning of grief, for every version of her.

only love can save me and love has destroyed me

M The heat is going out of me. C The heart is going out of me. B I feel nothing, nothing. I feel nothing.