"loss"タグの名言

The old Amy, the girl of the big laugh and the easy ways, literally shed herself, a pile of skin and soul on the floor, and stepped this new, brittle, bitter Amy ... a razor-wire knot daring me to unloop her, and I was not up to the job with my thick, numb, nervous fingers. Country fingers. Flyover fingers untrained in the intricate, dangerous work of 'solving Amy'. When I'd hold up the bloody stumps, she'd sigh and turn to her secret mental notebooks on which she tallied all my deficiencies, forever noting disappointments, frailties, shortcomings.

Love doesn't always curl your toes sometimes it takes a bite right out of your soul.

'Better to have loved and lost,' my ass. Anyone parroting that little platitude had obviously never lost anyone of consequence.

How do people know they are sane? Can a person be gripped by lunacy, only to be released a short time later, never to relive the episode again?

If we are afraid of the pain of grief, we will be afraid of confrontation. We may not leave relationships that should be left for fear of grief. We may be reluctant to enter into relationships that should be entered into for fear of them not working and the consequent suffering. Love, surprisingly, helps to heal the loss of love. Not the soppy love of romantics. Not the self-seeking love of infatuated would-be lovers. Not weak, needy love, but real love. It says, “No matter what, I will do what is best for you, me, my child, my friend, and those I dedicate my love to. If that is painful, I will still choose it.

To live is to grieve.

Each person if he was lucky found the place where he could shine, and the person he could shine on. At Cranley Gardens Johnny had been audience, to Evert, to Ivan, to the whole clever, memoir-swapping gang. But with Pat he was a closely attended performer - he was funny, almost articulate, and rich in things worth saying.

We were a religious sect consisting of two people, and now half the congregation was gone. There would be no closure, no healing. I would simply adjust myself to a new and severely depleted reality. The world would come to an end, as it always does, one world at a time.

Everything I have described so far seems to have happened to somebody else—to somebody else’s father. But the death of a parent happens to you, and, once it starts, it never stops. It dislodges everything.

While waiting for her to phone me at school I'd feel seconds bursting inside me and leaving clouds. That won't come again—it can't. I'll never have that with anyone else. I'll never even come close.

Behind every death lay a set of questions. To move on was to agree to not disturb these questions, to let them settle with the body under the earth. Yet some questions so thoroughly dismantled the terms of your own life, turning away was gravitationally impossible. So she would not be moving on. She would keep disturbing and disturbing. She imagined herself standing over a grave with a shovel and hacking away at the soil.

You see the separation of life as very arbitrary at this time. You are not alone in this assumption. You have far more connection than you are even vaguely aware of. You will not lose the love that is yours.

Everyone knows that sadness and grief are the price of admission for the experiences of joy and connection.

I used to think that when a child was born, a parent made a promise to stay with him. Or her. But if there's a promise, it can be broken. That first Matthew Trewhella broke his promises. I wonder if he ever forgot them, or did the torn edges of his promises hurt him to the end of his life? When someone goes away from you suddenly, without warning, that's what it's like. A rip, a torn edge inside you. I have a torn edge in me, and Dad has a torn edge in him. I'm not sure if those edges will still fit together by the time I find him.

We read not only because we cannot know enough people, but because friendship is so vulnerable, so likely to diminish or disappear, overcome by space, time, imperfect sympathies and all the sorrows of familial and passional life.

I don‘t know if you noticed but I have been trying, too hard, to be myself since the day I lost you.

I'm so sorry no one cared enough to tell you that you can never win against a ghost.

Part of love is preparing for death. You feel confirmed in your love when she dies. You got it right. This is part of it all.

Respect your grief. For, if there is a wall within you that needs mending. It will mend it. --- Grief

Forgive yourself for the lives that will be lost, but do not forget them. A good leader always recognizes that sacrifices must be made in order to win, but remembering or forgetting those who sacrificed themselves for your cause is what separates the tyrants from the benevolent.