612 Quotes About Mourning

He was jealous, fearful and tender,He loved me like God's only light,And that she not sing of the past timesHe killed my bird colored white.He said, in the lighthouse at sundown:"Love me, laugh and write poetry!"And I buried the joyous songbirdBehind a round well near a tree.I promised that I would not mourn her.But my heart turned to stone without choice,And it seems to me that everywhereAnd always I'll hear her sweet voice.

BERNARDA.— Las mujeres en la iglesia no deben mirar más hombre que al oficiante, y a ése porque tiene faldas. Volver la cabeza es buscar el calor de la pana.MUJER 1.— (En voz baja) ¡Vieja lagarta recocida!LA PONCIA.— (Entre dientes) ¡Sarmentosa por calentura de varón!BERNARDA.— (Dando un golpe de bastón en el suelo) ¡Alabado sea Dios!TODAS.— (Santiguándose) Sea por siempre bendito y alabado.

Everyone keeps telling me that time heals all wounds, but no one can tell me what I’m supposed to do right now. Right now I can’t sleep. It’s right now that I can’t eat. Right now I still hear his voice and sense his presence even though I know he’s not here. Right now all I seem to do is cry. I know all about time and wounds healing, but even if I had all the time in the world, I still don’t know what to do with all this hurt right now.

I could feel my insides sink. My knees too. So I sat on the ground, against the wall, letting it support me. I thought I knew what heartbreak felt like. I thought heartbreak was me, standing alone at the prom. That was nothing. This, this was heartbreak. The pain in your chest, the ache behind your eyes. The knowing that things will never be the same again. It’s all relative, I suppose. You think you know love, you think you know real pain, but you don’t. You don’t know anything.

Mama, I love you and miss you so very much. The absence of of your physical presence propels me further into understanding the spirit. I am inspired to be aware and mindful of everything around me because there-- you exist, always speaking to me and always with me.

I discover that grief means living with someone who is no longer there.

Miss was a word that couldn’t quite express the hollow pit of my stomach filled with nothing but cold gusts of air where the intestines should have been, walking around with a gaping hole in my chest where my heart had been pulled out from, feeling hollow within and without. It was a missing that filled me up, an absence that was a presence, a bereavement that wasn’t a release.

Standing beside her grandmother's deathbed, woolen dress still smelling of black logwood dye, Ade had felt the way a sapling might as it watched one of the old forest giants come crashing magnificently to rest: awed, and perhaps a little frightened. But when Mama Larson's final breath rattled from her ribs, Ade discovered the same thing the young sapling would have: in the absence of the old tree, there was a hole in the canopy above her.

How can you stop mourning the missing?