Quotes About Loss

Im Frieden begraben die Söhne ihre Väter, im Krieg begraben Väter ihre Söhne.

I have endured what no one on earth has ever done before—I put to my lips the hands of the man who killed my son.

But it gained us nothing —what good can come of grief?

They are destroying each other; the Achaians fight in defense over the fallen body while the others, the Trojans, are rushing to drag the corpse off 175  to windy Ilion

They burst into cries, wailing, streaming live tears that gained us nothing —what good can come of grief?

the great force was gone, the strength lost forever, now, that filled his rippling limbs in the old days.

But a man's life breath cannot come back again— no raiders in force, no trading brings it back, once it slips through a man's clenched teeth.

my own grief is greatest of all, for you did not stretch forth your arms and embrace me as you lay dying, nor say to me any words that might have lived with me in my tears night and day forever more.

Patroclus equal of Ares came out; and that was the beginning of his end.

I have endured what no one on earth has endured before. I kissed the hands of the man who killed my son.

Your arrows for my tears.

As it is, you lie mangled here, and my heart rejects all thought of food. Not that I lack it. I lack you.

would to god I'd stayed right here in my own house with a third of all that wealth and they were still alive, all who died on the wide plain of Troy those years ago, far from the stallion-land of Argos.

Pero aquel que se siente tocado por mi lanza no tarda en expirar. Su esposa se desgarra las mejillas, quedan sus hijos huérfanos y enrojece él la tierra con su sangre, y se corrompe, y hay en torno suyo más aves de rapiña que hembras gemebundas

a mother's death also means the loss of the consistent, supportive family system that once supplied her with a secure home base, she then has to develop her self-confidence and self-esteem through alternate means. Without a mother or mother-figure to guide her, a daughter also has to piece together a female self-image of her own.

When a mother dies, a daughter grieves. And then her life moves on. She does, thankfully, feel happiness again. But the missing her, the wanting her, the wishing she were still here—I will not lie to you, although you probably already know. That part never ends.

There is an emptiness inside of me- a void that will never be filled. No one in your life will ever love you as your mother does. There is no love as pure, unconditional and strong as a mother's love. And I will never be loved that way again.

When one parent dies, the world is dramatically altered, absolutely, but you still have another one left. When that second parent dies, it's the loss of all ties, and where does that leave you? You lose your history, your sense of connection to the past. You also lose the final buffer between you and death. Even if you're an adult, it's weird to be orphaned.

I miss her when I can't remember what works best on insect bites, and when nobody else cares how rude the receptionist at the doctor's office was to me. Whether she actually would have flown in to act as baby nurse or mailed me cotton balls and calamine lotion if she were alive isn't really the issue. It's the fact that I can't ask her for these things that makes me miss her all over again.

When a daughter loses a mother, she learns early that human relationships are temporary, that terminations are beyond her control, and her feelings of basic trust and security are shattered. The result? A sense of inner fragility and overriding vulnerability. She discovers she's not immune to unfortunate events, and the fear of subsequent similar losses may become a defining characteristic of her personality.

Someone did us all a grave injustice by implying that mourning has a distinct beginning, middle, and end.

When a mother dies, a daughter's mourning never completely ends.

Even though we knew she was going to die eventually, when it happened it was still a terrible, rude shock. I thought I was prepared, but when it happened I fell apart. That's when I realized I'd been hanging on to the hope, however slim, that as long as she was alive she might somehow get better.

When a daughter loses a mother, the intervals between grief responses lengthen over time, but her longing never disappears. It always hovers at the edge of her awareness, ready to surface at any time, in any place, in the least expected ways. This isn't pathological. It's normal. It's why you find yourself, at twenty-four, or thirty-five or forty-three, unwrapping a present or walking down an aisle or crossing a busy street, doubled over and missing your mother