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Grieving Quotes

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Grieving Quotes

“We know, instinctively, that we don’t end at death. We know it through the practise of grief. We pull each other through. My grandfather taught me more about death after his death than any book of spiritual teaching. He never left me. Even though I left him, left the country, wasn’t there by his side when he died.”

“How do we reach Gilead? Remember, Gilead lies beyond the River Jordan. That's where God meets us. The waters of the Jordan are made up of the tears of God, blended with the tears of all our grieving. The journey to Gilead crosses that river of tears. It's the journey we call baptism. That's what baptism is: being bathed, healed, cleansed, and renewed in the waters that flow from the broken heart of God. That's the balm in Gilead. The tears of the living God. The tears that make up the water of our baptism. To be baptized in the tears of God: this is the truest balm of all.”

“You have no idea how grief will take you. The same with severe illness, motherhood, any profound experience. You don’t know yourself. Others don’t know you. These events show who you are. And you’ll be surprised, shocked even. You’ll feel the way you feel when you’ve done a particularly offensive-smelling shit – That couldn’t possibly have come out of me – and start to rationalize it – Must be that bag of pistachios I ate earlier, or perhaps I am unwell. You can’t believe you could do something so foul and unrecognizable. Something so outside yourself.”

“Permission is the key that unlocks the door that’s been holding us trapped, muzzled, and stifled in our grief. Permission is the opposite of rejection. Permission is the opposite of abandonment. Permission lifts the weight, eases the pressure, and loosens the reins.”

“I felt like I was failing at widowhood. I missed my husband, but no one knew that when they looked at me. They just saw a mom with blonde highlights going to yoga, picking up her daughter from school, buying groceries at Trader Joe’s. And now I was at a party with a date when I should have been home, grieving, all alone. I didn’t look like a widow. I wasn’t acting like a widow. But I felt like a widow. I guess I was just widowish.”

“They said, 'Come to tea and let us comfort you.' But it is no good. One must be crucified on one's own private cross. It is a strange fact that a terrible pain in the heart can be interrupted by a little pain in the fourth toe of the right foot. I know that V. will not come across the garden from the lodge, & yet I look in that direction for her. I know that she is drowned & yet I listen for her to come in at the door. I know that it is the last page & yet I turn it over. There is no limit to one's stupidity and selfishness.”

“I began to call friends and relatives. Some called me. They'd heard the news on the radio. Others just came by. I greeted each one in the foyer. Few words were spoken. Mostly, we embraced. People often say they don't know what to say to someone like me at a time like this. Nothing need be said. The presence of those you care about is comfort enough; a warm embrace communicates far more than words do.”

“When we refuse ourselves permission to grieve, we shut off a vital piece of our hearts that needs seeing, expressing, and loving: a wounded child, a raging wolf, an injured spirit. When we give ourselves permission to grieve, we embrace the child. We release the wolf. We heal the spirit. We run towards what scares us most only to find that “it” is ourselves... and it’s not so much scary as is it is afraid. And we don’t want the fear to go away as much as we want the fear to be seen, heard, and wholeheartedly loved.”

“Was I simply using a psychological defense mechanism to protect myself from unbearable grief? That’s what some people might say. But I disagree. Psychological defense mechanisms are supposed to protect you from pain, and I was in terrible pain. I was heartbroken, overwhelmed by grief, despair, and loss. Knowing that Bao was coming back to me did nothing to ease the heartbreak of having lost him. That might not make sense, but that’s how it was.”

“But I guess death is like that. It takes away from you in an instant the people you've cherished for a whole lifetime. Just like that. As simple as that. And you are suddenly left with two things: anger for having been deprived of your beloved for no reason at all; and emptiness, a vacuum that gnaws right at your heart where all the joyful moments once had been.”

“I walked in the garden of life, caressing soft petals here and there. And lo! After a while they were no more, and my heart bled for each fragrant petal that fell. If every flower withers, never to return to its full blossom, then what good indeed is passing by in the garden of life? Herein lies my hope: That for every flower that withers, another one blooms, one that will remain forever fragrant and fresh, never ever to pass away…”

“I wait and pray and hope I will look forward to each brand new day thankful for all that I've had and will always have thankful for the sun that shines again believing and hanging on believing that life will go on it can't help but go on it shall go on and in so going there really is no end only mornings and evenings and life that never ever ends.”

“My point here is that the grieving are very dangerous, Richard said. They are like injured animals with fearsome claws, bloodied and pushed into a corner. Okay, said Clare. They are deranged, he continued. They shouldn't be let out of the house. Immediately after the funeral some sort of waiting period should be instituted, a period of confinement. It is a matter of public safety.”