“When I was visiting her a few years ago she hugged me and said, 'Tomorrow after you leave I will stand here at this window and remember that yesterday you were right here with me.' And now she's dead and I have that feeling all the time, no matter where I stand.” DeathLossGriefMemoryGrieving Book:Writers & Lovers Source: Writers & Lovers
“I love these geese. They make my chest tight and full and help me believe that things will be all right again, that I will pass through this time as I have passed through other times, that the vast and threatening blank ahead of me is a mere specter, that life is lighter and more playful than I’m giving it credit for. But right on the heels of that feeling, that suspicion that all is not yet lost, comes the urge to tell my mother, tell her that I am okay today, that I have felt something close to happiness, that I might still be capable of feeling happy. She will want to know that. But I can't tell her. That's the wall I always slam into on a good morning like this. My mother will be worrying about me, and I can't tell her that I'm okay. The geese don't care that I'm crying again. They're used to it.” HappinessDeathHopeLossGriefOptimismMourningMothersGeeseDeath Of A Mother Book:Writers & Lovers Source: Writers & Lovers
“When you die, she thought now, you can no longer give love. You can't give love anymore. She wouldn't be able to love her children. It struck her suddenly as the very worst thing about death, worse than not being able to breathe or laugh or kiss. A kind of existential suffocation, to not be able to give her children her love anymore.” LoveChildrenDeathFamilyLoving Book:Five Tuesdays in Winter Source: Five Tuesdays in Winter
“The air between us crackles, as it does when you speak of your beloved dead. But it’s hard to know what to say next.” DeathLossGriefTalkingConversationSpeechMourning Book:Writers & Lovers Source: Writers & Lovers
