Quotes About Loss

I only know there's something unsettling about a door that closes forever. I feel a vague lament about the changing of my body, the alterations in my appearance, the bleeding out of motherhood, the fear that I will not find the mysterious green fuse again.

There's nothing like a song about lost love to remind you how everything precious can slip from hinges where you've hung it so careful.

My first and only memory of my mother was the day she died.

Sarah shifted on the bench. I worried she was winding up to say something, that Sky would start humming now, that the fright spring-coiled inside me would break loose. Then I remembered the widow dress I was wearing. I made a sound with my lips like I was trying to give him an answer, but choking on the words, seized by my grief, and I didn't have to pretend that much. I felt sorrow for my life, for what I'd lived and seen and known, for what was lost to me, and the weeping turned real.

I said out loud, Damn you for saving yourself. How come you left me with nothing but to love you and hate you, and that's gonna kill me, and you know it is. Then I turned round, went back to the cellar room, and picked up the sewing. Don't think she wasn't in every stitch I worked. She was in the wind and the rain and the creaking from the rocker. She sat on the wall with the birds and stared at me. When darkness fell, she fell with it.

There's nothing like a song about lost love to remind you how everything precious can slip from the hinges where you've hung it so carefully.

I'd held the world too close and it had slipped from my arms.

There's nothing like a song about lost love to remind you how everything precious can slip from the hinges where you've hung it so careful.

He said she left me, that she left both of us and ran away." A wall of glass broke in my chest, a wall I didn't even know was there.

Loss takes up inside of everything sooner or later and eats right through

He'd cradled his grief almost to the point of loving it. For so long he'd refused to give it up, because leaving it behind was like leaving her.

The birth of a daughter is a loss. Better is the wickedness of a man than a woman who does good.

I've had intimations of this feeling of loss before, but it was a shadow passing in the peripheries, then gone. After Ann left home, I would wander into her room and catch the scent of dried prom corsages in the closet

It almost bereaves me to think of unrealized potentials dying inside, the small miscarriages of self. I

It has been a day of suffering for you," he said, and the words opened a ravine of sadness in me. My eyes glazed, a sob creeping up the back of my throat.

I looked at him. I'd held the world too close and it had slipped from my arms.

He'd cradled his grief almost to the point of loving it. For so long he'd refused to give it up, because leaving it behind was like leaving her. Sometimes he couldn't fathom why he'd thrown in his lot with these aging men.

Every time it happened, it was like coming upon an empty room I didn't know was there, and stepping in, I would be pierced by it, by the ghost of the one who'd once filled it up. I didn't stumble into this place much anymore, but when I did, it hollowed out little pieces of my chest.

I wondered how it was possible I had found words out there in the world but could lose them in the house where I was born--Sarah Grimke

I slept with grief and woke to it. It was always there, a black strap around my heart.

Part of it was because I didn't know where this journey was taking me and I was scared, and part of it was due to the loss I was starting to feel inside

Now that she was gone, they loved her a lot better.

The oddest things caused me to miss her. Like training bras. Who was I going to ask about that? And who but my mother could've understood the magnitude of driving me to junior cheerleader tryouts? I can tell you for certain T. Ray didn't grasp it. But you know when I missed her the most? The day I was twelve and woke up with the rose-petal stain on my panties. I was so proud of that flower and didn't have a soul to show it to except Rosaleen.

It is the necessity of loss.