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A Manual for Victory

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Gift Gugu Mona

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“Sometimes, grief comes in floods, needing space to push forth, wrecking everything in its path, and reclaiming liminal space. And other times, grief manifests in everyday minutiae, little changes in the world's making--one less stack of laundry, a quieter Sunday evening, a broken cabinet that will remain unfixed. You can't pass a Volkswagen on the road without feeling an ingrained tug or seeing a puzzle on the dailies as an affirmation of the complexity of relations. These are the weight of man's doldrums--losses that cascade as we continue--that change the curl of our current. Perhaps the I too gets lost in grief, the way smaller bodies of water like streams and brooks, and temperaments--smells, sights, sounds--get lost when a river dies. Even if you understand the anatomy of its making--that it is natural--to comprehend that what exists can get lost is a reckoning indistinguishable from living.”

LossGrief
Author:Johanna Michelle Lim
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“Das im Artikel beschriebene Unglück berührt uns nicht, es ist zu weit weg von uns. Es ist nur eine pikante Story, in der es um Geld, Recht, Macht, Schuld, Prominenz, Zuwanderung und Politik geht. Wenn aber hier in der Poster-Community ein Vater zu uns spricht und uns anvertraut, dass sein Kind erst vor kurzem im Alter von sechzehn Jahren gestorben ist, dann macht es einen Stick, dann spüren wir selbstden Schmerz und fühlen mit. Plötzlich hat nämlich >>einer aus unserer Mitte<< ein Kind verloren. Einer von uns, jeder von uns! Und das erst entlockt uns unser persönliches Mitgefühl und Beileid.”

GriefGrief And Loss
Book:Die spürst du nicht
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“Grief, I’d come to realize, was like dust. When you’re in the thick of a dust storm, you’re completely disoriented by the onslaught, struggling to see or breathe. But as the force recedes, and you slowly find your bearings and see a path forward, the dust begins to settle into the crevices. And it will never disappear completely— as the years pass, you’ll find it in unexpected places at unexpected moments. Grief is just love looking for a place to settle.”

Grief
Book:The Collected Regrets of Clover
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“I'm sorry.' It was those two words that shattered me. Shattered me in a way I didn't know I could still be broken, a rending of every tether and leash. Stay with the High Lord. The Suriel's last warning. Stay... and live to see everything righted. A lie. A lie, as Rhys had lied to me. Stay with the High Lord. Stay. For there... the torn scraps of the mating bond. Floating on a phantom wind inside me. I grasped at them- tugged at them, as if he'd answer. Stay. Stay, stay, stay. I clung to those scraps and remnants, clawing at the voice that lurked beyond. Stay. I looked up at Tarquin, lip curling back from my teeth. Looked at Helion. And Thesan. And Beon and Kallias, Viviane weeping at his side. And I snarkled, 'Bring him back.' Blank faces. I screamed at them, 'BRING HIM BACK.' Nothing. 'You did it for me,' I said, breathing hard. 'Now do it for him.' 'You were human,' Helion said carefully. 'It is not the same-' 'I don't care. Do it.' When they didn't move, I rallied the dregs of my power, readying to rip into their minds and force them, not caring what rules or laws it broke. I wouldn't care, only if- Tarquin stepped forward. He slowly extended his hand toward me. 'For what he gave,' Tarquin said quietly. 'Today and for many years before.' And as the seed of light appeared in his palm... I began crying again. Watched it drop onto Rhys's bare throat and vanish onto the skin beneath, an echo of light flaring once. Helion stepped forward. That kernel of light in his hand flickered as it fell onto Rhys's skin. Then Kallias. And Thesan. Until only Beron stood there. Mor drew her sword and laid it on his throat. He jerked, having not seen her move. 'I do not mind making one more kill today,' she said. Beron gave her a withering glare, but shoved off the sword and strode forward. He practically chucked that fleck of light onto Rhys. I didn't care about that, either. I didn't know the spell, the power it came from. But I was High Lady. I held out my palm. Willing the spark of life to appear. Nothing happened. I took a steadying breath, remembering how it had looked. 'Tell me how,' I growled to no one. Thesan coughed and stepped forward. Explaining the core of power and on and on and I didn't care, but I listened, until- There. Small as a sunflower seed, it appeared in my palm. A bit of me- my life. I laid it gently on Rhys's blood-crusted throat. And I realised, just as he appeared, what was missing. Tamlin stood there, summoned by either the death of a fellow High Lord or one of the others around me. He was splattered in mud and gore, his new bandolier of knives mostly empty. He studied Rhys, lifeless before me. Studied all of us- the palms still out. There was no kindness on his face. No mercy. 'Please,' was all I said to him. Then Tamlin glanced between us- me and my mate. His face did not change. 'Please,' I wept. 'I will- I will give you anything-' Something shifted in his eyes at that. But not kindness. No emotion at all. I laid my head on Rhysand's chest, listening for any kind of heartbeat through that armour. 'Anything,' I breathed to no one in particular. 'Anything.' Steps scuffed on the rocky ground. I braced myself for another set of hands trying to pull me away, and dug my fingers in harder. The steps remained behind me for long enough that I looked. Tamlin stood there. Staring down at me. Those green eyes swimming with some emotion I couldn't place. 'Be happy, Feyre,' he said quietly. And dropped that final kernel of light onto Rhysand.”

GriefSarah J MaasFeyreFeyre ArcheronRhysandRhysBeggingTamlinA Court Of Wings And RuinHigh Lords
Book:A Court of Wings and Ruin
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