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Widows Quotes

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Widows Quotes

“In any story the two hardest things to be are a widow or an orphan. Those are the bad cards to draw from the deck marked "life." Because those are the two moments the people you love the most die. It's heart break. Heart shatter. Heart starve. It's so much loss that it's easier if you just died and started the game over. But you can't. You have to wander. Part of it is losing your tribe and being homeless. Part of it is being alone in the dark. I won't lie to you. The deck marked "life" is stacked full of bum cards.”

“How are you? I'm shattered, thanks, how are you? I walk aimlessly through the rooms of my house, what have you been up to? I have woken up in the middle of the last 240 nights in a heart-pounding sweat, what's new with you? I sometimes wish I would never wake up, have you been on vacation this year? I ache for the arms of my sweetheart to hold me tight, how's your family? I feel barren and useless and creepy and mundane, seen any good movies lately? I'm terrified that I'll feel this way forever, I like that sweater you're wearing. I keep seeing his body on the hospital gurney, don't you love this weather. My broken heart is in my throat, let's do lunch. I'm so completely and utterly tired of being sad, thanks, how are you?”

“I love you. I want to know what you are going through, if not now, then some day I want to sit with you and hear it. My imagination is not big enough to comprehend the emotions you are having. How small and insignificant all of this worldly stuff must seem to you. Can you talk? You must miss him intensely. You must think about him in every moment. Which is harder for you, being alone or being in the world of people? Life must feel surreal to you.”

“I love you. How many times have you been asked, "How are you" today? It's a dreadful question. It's an absurd question. Knowing you and seeing what has happened in your life makes me stop in my tracks and catch myself before I ask anyone that question again. How the hell can you answer that question in the aisle of a supermarket? Come back to the house, you say. Bring your toothbrush and call your boss. You will need a week to hear the complete answer. And you will never be the same if you listen. It's the question that the entire human race reduces itself to each and every day, in each and every encounter, and without the intention of ever truly hearing the answer.”

“I love you. I'm probably going to fail you. My life is full of distractions and I need to live my life. You understand this about me and everyone else, more than I can ever imagine. We need to live our lives. And so I fear that I am not there for you. And my own guilt about that is hard to face. Being with you scares me and makes me uneasy. It's hard to be around truth manifest. I'm not strong enough to hear your truth, know what you know and try to give you what you need. If I tell you this fear, will you still love me? I just want to sit with you, walk with you, hear your voice, hold your hand, be in your home, look at your face, watch you pet the cat, and beg you to trust me.”

“You think you've stopped crying And then the blues come back, You wonder what brought them: The red pen? The wind in the yard? The plaid shirt in the bank? Your buried grief seeps to the surface, Like oil under tar sands. Let it go. It's the rich black residue of the past, Dead life becomes this stuff that sticks to the soles of your feet, Welling up when it damned well pleases. Let it go.”

“No one knows you're gone. The police still want donations from you And they summoned you for jury duty. The Economist wants you to take advantage of an early renewal offer And so does National Geographic. An acquaintance asks how you are doing (I shake my head) And a new friend wonders About your picture on my phone. They didn't know you. Because if they did, They would know That it is a different world now.”

“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.”

“A little while ago, I stood by the grave of the old Napoleon—a magnificent tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost for a dead deity—and gazed upon the sarcophagus of rare and nameless marble, where rest at last the ashes of that restless man. I leaned over the balustrade and thought about the career of the greatest soldier of the modern world. I saw him walking upon the banks of the Seine, contemplating suicide. I saw him at Toulon—I saw him putting down the mob in the streets of Paris—I saw him at the head of the army of Italy—I saw him crossing the bridge of Lodi with the tri-color in his hand—I saw him in Egypt in the shadows of the pyramids—I saw him conquer the Alps and mingle the eagles of France with the eagles of the crags. I saw him at Marengo—at Ulm and Austerlitz. I saw him in Russia, where the infantry of the snow and the cavalry of the wild blast scattered his legions like winter's withered leaves. I saw him at Leipsic in defeat and disaster—driven by a million bayonets back upon Paris—clutched like a wild beast—banished to Elba. I saw him escape and retake an empire by the force of his genius. I saw him upon the frightful field of Waterloo, where Chance and Fate combined to wreck the fortunes of their former king. And I saw him at St. Helena, with his hands crossed behind him, gazing out upon the sad and solemn sea. I thought of the orphans and widows he had made—of the tears that had been shed for his glory, and of the only woman who ever loved him, pushed from his heart by the cold hand of ambition. And I said I would rather have been a French peasant and worn wooden shoes. I would rather have lived in a hut with a vine growing over the door, and the grapes growing purple in the kisses of the autumn sun. I would rather have been that poor peasant with my loving wife by my side, knitting as the day died out of the sky—with my children upon my knees and their arms about me—I would rather have been that man and gone down to the tongueless silence of the dreamless dust, than to have been that imperial impersonation of force and murder, known as 'Napoleon the Great.”

“The world is full of widows--several among my closer friends. We have each known that grim rite of passage, have engaged with grief and loss, and have not exactly emerged but found a way of living after and beyond. It is an entirely changed life, for anyone who has been in a long marriage--forty-one years, for me: alone in bed, alone most of the time, without that presence towards which you turned for advice, reassurance, with whom you shared the good news and the bad. Every decision now taken alone; no one to defuse anxieties. And a thoroughly commonplace experience--everywhere, always--so get on with it and don't behave as though you are uniquely afflicted. I didn't tell myself that at the time, and I doubt if it would have helped if I had, but it is what I have come--not so much to feel as to understand.”