612 Quotes About Mourning

I didn't want to wait on my kneesIn a room made quiet by waiting. A room where we'd listen for the riseOf breath, the burble in his throat. I didn't want the orchids or the traysOf food meant to fortify that silence, Or to pray for him to stay or to go thenFinally toward that ecstatic light. I didn't want to believeWhat we believe in those rooms: That we are blessed, letting go,Letting someone, anyone, Drag open the drapes and heave usBack into our blinding, bright lives.

This is who I am. This is who I have always been. I am in pain. I am always in pain. But I always find my way to the story. And I always find my way home.

It was the end of us,Off with the blinds on justiceThe two of us — A hot mess.Clueless, like Silverstone,Lump and quivers in our throat;We knew our fate all along.Dinner plates have now gone cold,We have reached the end of the road. We stick to our guns, we cut and run. The mourning period, has just begun.

Libby's been lecturing me, she claims seawater is the surest antidote for heartbreak. 'It's the salt. Makes up for all the crying.

I have yet to meet one widow who hasn't changed in monumental ways as she has coped with her loss. Most of us have gotten to the point where we are not the "pleasers" we once were. We say what we think, we realize that life is precious, and we don't have time to be anything less than who we really are.

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.

Feel sorry for yourself. Sure, your tiny steel-ribbed mother told you never to do that,But who the hell is going to do it for you?"Piangi, piangi," the old man in the opera tells Violetta. "Cry, honey, cry." Do it right. Do it yourself.

Living in Greece I learned why so many women wore black: a year for parents, for a husband forever, telling the neighbors takecare of me, I am weak with grief,I have turned to ash inside.

I don't need again to learn the bitter lesson that everything I love is a flame between two fingers, no act undone, no word unsaid.