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Death Of A Loved One Quotes

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Death Of A Loved One Quotes

“There is some information that is too delicate to be passed on, shared, slid, conveyed, announced, or confided to anyone. Some news has a hard shell of grief and needs to be broken. Different degrees of difficulty mar the acceptance of a terminated relationship with a lover, employer or even a friend, but with time it sinks in. Death is different. Death is both hard to accept and quite unacceptable. Brede talks no more, and the loggers and I hold few reservations about proselytizing our perspective. This is different. More delicate. Will you allow me to break some news? Can I tell you what I think? Mere acceptance is an imprecise response to death. How do you believe that someone who was is not anymore? What really is gone? Their ability to chat or respond to correspondence or circulate air? The sound of their laughter, their raised eyebrows over a lowered newspaper, the warmth of their touch, the light in their eyes, the wrinkle in their smile, the salt of their tears? Of course! But how will the fact of them ever go? They were. They talked and giggled and sulked and tripped in public. They were kind, thoughtful, charitable, reliable and fun! Uh oh, but these silver linings are also bordered by a little dark cloud. They could be rude too – bitter, abrupt, cruel, distant, annoying, frustrating. You even had fights. But why waste time in overcast plains? All things they were, you are too. They suffered from life as you do, and they even told dirty jokes now and then. And now some bold claims. The only thing to really accept is that life has no purpose. Feel this from the depth of your being, carve it into your bones, pour it into your cavities, etch it on your liver. If life has no purpose, then existence requires no justification, then non-existence requires no acceptance. Yes, you no longer have access to many things about those who are gone and the space they hold in your heart shall never house new tenants (but don’t forget there’s all this other space too). Acceptance of death is an antidote to grief. Grief is making someone else’s existence about you. Fuck grief. Isn’t it better to think of those you love as you wish to be thought of? Exalt that little place in your heart, coat it with love, redecorate sometimes, get some fun throw pillows and maybe a nice lamp and an expensive rug. Warm it with gratitude. Love them. And, if you really, truly care, live in a way they would have loved you to.”

“But in that moment, they already saw him as a lucid vision from the nostalgic past like when a deceased loved one visits you in a dream and you wrap them up in your arms and refuse to let go until you wake up tightly clutching your pillow and crying into it, and still you refuse to let go.”

“But his body, so cold, so unrelentingly unmoving was beginning to belong back to Earth, a block of perfect marble into which, even now, I tried to press my own life, exhaling, exhaling, exhaling. It's fruitless, you know it's fruitless, but you do it anyway, entreating your dead son to return to this perfectly usable thing, this beautiful, still body, so umblemished, so strong, so midstride.”

“She knew loss too well, knew that your dear ones never left, that they stayed with you, spoke to you, attempted to console you, but that these ghosts had no arms to hold you, that no one else could hear their jokes. That their love was not enough. And that as more and more of these familiars passed away, the world around you became less and less interesting, less and less real.”

“Put another way: I don't know what's going to happen on Election Day, other than the fact that the election won't be the only thing I'm thinking about- as November 5, 2024, also marks the ten-year anniversary of the death of my mother: a milestone so striking, it seems impossible to me even as I write it. And guess what? I won't be the only person in this country with something else on my mind that day, either.”

“Rosa Mystica Requiescat Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust. Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew She was a woman, so Sweetly she grew. Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast, I vex my heart alone, She is at rest. Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life's buried here, Heap earth upon it.”

“Someone asked me why me and someone weren’t together anymore. I responded with confusion, I had no clue who they were talking about. Everyone who I tripped over love with in the past is now considered dead to me. Their name is not their name anymore because in my mind they would’ve never done what they did to cause that break-up. The last fragments of what I knew of them is scattered across the earth to never be found again and what lies in their vessel is a new name. They’re demons controlling their bodies. I have no clue who they are. If I did we would’ve never dispersed as a couple.”

“I went outside. The rain had stopped. The air, washed by the rain, was serene, and the waves sounded closer than usual. The full moon shone like a pearl in the night sky. The moonlight made it look as if all the houses had sunk to the bottom of a lake. The road stretched ahead, white. It was the road that led to Migitahama. A gust of wind and the petals from a wild cherry tree went dancing, white against the darkness, and I remembered then that the cherry trees here blossomed two or three weeks later than in Tokyo. The waves roared. I stood alone in the darkness. Light does not illuminate. It only looks for things to illuminate. And I had never been found by the light. I would always be in darkness—”

“The loss of a mother is a partial loss of the self. It was for me. Her death cast me adrift, for she took with her her memory, both spoken and untold. She took all she might have divulged about herself, about me, for from the moment she passed, from the moment I watched her face soften and ease as she took death's hand. . . .a myriad of questions I might have asked descended on me like a sudden sleeve of rain. With her went all that possibility.”

“The mean-spirited, unpredictable cancer beast had changed all of our lives. There were unspoken details of our life before cancer. Now, only the stark reality of life after cancer remained. I was acutely aware that, regardless of the treatment’s outcome, we were bound in a race against time. A relentless clock, damnably ticking away, measured the fleeting seconds of Xuan’s life. Its insistent rhythm served as a re- minder of our finite journey. Though it may have momentarily paused, the clock would invariably resume its steady wind down toward zero.”

“वह बारिश के ही दिन थे जब मां नहीं रही थी । तब पूरा घर काटने को दौड़ता रहता था । मैं और मेरे पिता के बीच से मानो सारा सामान्य किसी ने उधेड़ दिया था । हम दोनों उधड़े स्वेटर से पूरे घर में बिखरे पड़े रहते । मैं उनके लिए क्या करूं और वो मेरे लिए क्या करें में हम दोनों एक-दूसरे को ताकते रहते ।”

“You Still Live (Overcoming Grief Sonnet) After your month long battle for breath, Today I place you in nature's lap. I know she'll care for you well, like she once brought you to the world. Fact of the matter is, you still live, just in different form among the elements. Nature's forces make us awake and restless, Nature's forces coerce us into eternal rest. There is no heaven, there is no hell, these are concepts made by cowards. Life is too sacred to be confined by obsolete lies and superstitions. Your light of affection shall continue to shine bright in my memories. You who was, nay, is like my second mother, I won't say goodbye, for you still live.”

“Bereavement Sermon (The Sonnet) You don't find a way out of grief, You embrace it and it becomes your strength. You don't find a way out of suffering, You surf it and it endows you with courage. Avoiding sorrow you won't find happiness, Road to happiness goes through sorrow. No matter how dark life seems tonight, without heartwrecking darkness, we'll never discover resilience, and grow. Amidst the grief none of this makes sense, I've felt it first hand this past month. So I say, it's okay to be shattered to pieces, but you must gather the pieces and soldier on, for the sake of your living loved ones. It's okay to not be okay, it means your mind is trying to heal itself. Persevering pain for those who live, the sun will rise once again.”

“There are things we know in this world without explanation, like a sixth sense that ties us to all other living things—that root of our DNA from which we all share, which warns us and enlightens us. It informs us what death looks like, no matter what species we are. When my father fell asleep, I knew he had not died—not technically—but I knew he was gone. He would never wake up.”

“Endo told me that when he first read this story, he thought that it was about regret, and how people leave many things undone and unsaid when they die, and that the burden of such grief -- for the living and the dead -- is quite possibly the greatest torture any person will ever undergo. But then, as we discussed the story, we decided that it was really about how the man had let go and come to accept that the wife was gone, though the process had made him ill for a while.”

“Lost love is still love, Eddie. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it. 'Life has to end,' she said. 'Love doesn't.”

“A sudden, unanticipated death has a way of jolting us to our senses. Life as you know it will never be the same. It can be reinvented, reshaped into something different- but its never the same.”