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Quote by Brittany DeMarco-Furman

“One month officially passed. There are no more sympathy flower deliveries, your mail is thin, no new voicemails, and your family and friends are back into their normal routines. Your life exploded, and it was overwhelming with “I’m sorry for your loss,” but now it is disturbingly quiet and lonely.”

Quote by Brittany DeMarco-Furman

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Brittany DeMarco-Furman

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“It felt like I was washed out to a deserted island, screaming “SOS” but painfully realizing that I was alone in my grief. I kept asking myself the same question over and over: How does a therapist grieve?”

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“I felt everything and nothing. Should I feel everything or nothing? This was not my child. This was a client. A client I had known for ten years and watched grow up from a young girl to a young woman. She was just a client. But some clients are not just clients. Some connect more. Some connect less.”

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“Our culture still minimizes or runs from grief. This is especially true for losses through infertility, miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant death. These types of losses are often invisible to others. They represent "disenfranchised grief" – grief that is not usually openly acknowledged, socially accepted, or publicly mourned.”

Grief Grieving Grief And Loss Grief Quotes The Grief Experience

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“Growing up, I loved to throw pebbles into the lake near my grandparents’ cottage. The pebble hit the water with a loud splash and ripples would fan out from the point of impact. The water would shift and change through the ripples. It would never be the same as it had been before the pebble hit. To me, loss and grief are much like those pebbles, the water, and the ripples. A death or other loss occurs and strikes the waters of your life with a resounding splash. From that moment, your life is changed in a multitude of ways – painful, jarring, challenging, and ultimately, often transformative ways.”

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“conditioned me to split my voice in two one to keep to myself the other to appease you”

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Book:coming here to die: polyphonic grief poetry

Source: coming here to die: polyphonic grief poetry

“Thinking of her father, she realized how greatly she had leant on that man of deep kindness, how sure she had felt of his constant protection, how much she had taken that protection for granted. And so together with her constant grieving, with the ache for his presence that never left her, came the knowledge of what real loneliness felt like. She would marvel, remembering how often in his lifetime she had thought herself lonely, when by stretching out a finger she could touch him, when by speaking she could hear his voice, when by raising her eyes she could see him before her. And now also she knew the desolation of small things, the power to give infinite pain that lies hidden in the little inanimate objects that persist, in a book, in a well-worn garment, in a half-finished letter, in a favourite armchair. She thought: 'They go on—they mean nothing at all, and yet they go on,' and the handling of them was anguish, and yet she must always touch them. 'How queer, this old arm-chair has out-lived him, an old chair—' And feeling the creases in its leather, the dent in its back where her father's head had lain, she would hate the inanimate thing for surviving, or perhaps she would love it and find herself weeping.”

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Book:The Well Of Loneliness

Source: The Well Of Loneliness

“Let it be known that you are pro-victory. Proclaim words of victory.”

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Book:A Manual for Victory

Source: A Manual for Victory

“We all grieve in different ways, you know?' she adds. 'Losing someone is universal, but I think that's about it, really. The rest is our own thing.”

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Book:Maame

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“Lewis, you've told me so much about Wren, sometimes I think I miss her, too.”

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Book:Shark Heart

Source: Shark Heart

“These feelings don't just go away. They linger. Hover. They are with me always. Even at my most functioning...they are there, watching me. These emotions are my roommates now, bunking up beside me at night. They do not pay any rent...they are determinded to ruin me, and yet I can never fully evict them from my brain. I have tried -- really tried -- to chip away at my grief...But lately, I've just given up. I'm finally giving it permission to breathe and exist... Most days now, they lie dormant in me. Sometimes it gets so quiet in my brain I think they've finally packed up and left. But every year as the calendar rounds the corner to March and the anniversary of her death approaches, anger bubbles again...I rage over the smallest of things, screaming behind the steering wheel of my car when another driver forgets to use their blinker. At first I'm perplexed, and then I remember: it's here again. And I am still mad. So mad. I can starve it, avoid it, rationalize it, manage it, talk about it in therapy, and eat it up in neat little points value. No matter how much weight I lose, I will never lose this one simple truth: I want my mom. I am so f***ing mad that she's gone. And that feeling will never, ever die.”

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Book:The Dead Moms Club: A Memoir about Death, Grief, and Surviving the Mother of All Losses

Source: The Dead Moms Club: A Memoir about Death, Grief, and Surviving the Mother of All Losses