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Quote by Kristy McGinnis

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Motion of Intervals

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Kristy McGinnis

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“They all know the chant except her. She tries to follow along but her signs are halting. Still, the people on either side of her smile at her. The silence in the room is overwhelming, broken as it is by nothing but the involuntary sounds of the deaf and the rustling of the sleeves of the signing people. The girl is about to start to cry when she hears around her a muted chuckling sound. Who’s laughing, she thinks furiously, only to realize that the sound was the sniffling of other people already weeping. At the realization, she is hard-put to suppress giggles instead. She thinks: maybe all ritual has mystery and absurdity, and maybe that is what it is for. It is a curious and complex thought and like most of her legacy from the madwoman it makes her head hurt. She concentrates then on her signing.”

“Grief is a ghost that visits without warning. It comers in the night and rips you from your sleep. It fills your chest with shards of glass. It interrupts you mid-laugh when you're at a party, chastising you that, just for a moment, you've forgotten. It haunts you until it becomes a part of you, shading you breath for breath.”

“Healing is figuring out how to coexist with the pain that will always live inside of you, without pretending it isn't there or allowing it to hijack your day. It is learning to confront ghosts and to carry what lingers. It is learning to embrace the people I love now instead of protecting against a future in which I am gutted by their loss.”

“But what if the great secret insider-trading truth is that you don't ever get over the biggest losses in your life? Is that good news, bad news, or both? The good news is that if you don't seal up your heart with caulking compound, and instead stay permeable, people stay alive inside you, and maybe outside you, too, forever. This is also the bad news, not because your heart will continue to hurt forever, but because grief is so frowned upon, so hard for even intimate bystanders to witness, that you will think you must be crazy for not getting over it. You think it's best to keep this a secret, even if it cuts you off from certain aspects of life, like, say, the truth of your heart, and all that is real. The pain does grow less acute, but the insidious palace lie that we will get over crushing losses means that our emotional GPS can never find true north, as it is based on maps that no longer mention the most important places we have been to.”

“Years after her death, I started thinking mean things about myself, and that holding on to her shirt was pure neurotic clinging. That it was ridiculous. Part of me understood that my hold on it had to do with the excruciating mess and weirdness of my family: how only a handful of people in your lifetime help redeem this mess, so that when one of them dies, hope dies. You never fully recover. You can't.”

“I'd given talks for years about how when it comes to grieving, the culture lies--you really do not get over the biggest losses, you don't pass through grief in any organized way, and it takes years and infinitely more tears than people want to allot you. Yet the gift of grief is incalculable, in giving you back to yourself.”

“Bilba opened her eyes, and Fili was standing directly in front of her. The last thread broke. She'd spent years building walls around the hollow left by Ravenhill. There had always been cracks, even breaches over the years, but she'd endured, fortified them again and continued on. It wasn't until she'd opened her eyes again in Bag End that the walls had turned brittle, and it wasn't until she'd laid eyes on him once more that they'd started to fall. And it wasn't until that very moment, when his eyes sliced into her soul, that the final wall fell completely. And, just like that, the wound was open and the truth she'd tried so hard to ignore was pouring. It had always been there, seeping out through cracks, bleeding into her veins, poisoning her sleep and freezing her days. The truth, that the hollow inside her wasn't so hollow after all. It was full, always had been full, always would be full, and with one thing and one thing only. The knowledge of how deeply and irrevocably in love she was with this son of Durin. As much as that first day. As much as the last. Every breath, every beat of her heart cried out with the depth of her love for someone lost to her forever. All that love falling forever into emptiness, a void deeper than the one opened in her soul the moment she'd watched him die.”

“That was it. Just…fate. No grand scheme, no conscious decision one way or the other, her father wasn't a coward or apathetic, he hadn't chosen to leave them to die in Moria…nothing. It simply was. Her father should have come. Her father would have come. Her father could have come. Would have, should have, could have….. Didn't. The end. Done.”