Quotes about Grief

The people you lose here on this side of eternity, whom you can no longer call or text, will live fully again both in your heart and in the world. They will make you smile and talk out loud at the most inappropriate times. Of course, their absence will cause lifelong pangs of homesickness, but grief, friends, time, and tears will heal you to some extent. Tears will bathe, baptize, and hydrate you and the seeds beneath the surface of the ground on which you walk.

Grief, as I read somewhere once, is a lazy Susan. One day it is heavy and underwater, and the next day it spins and stops at loud and rageful, and the next day at wounded keening, and the next day at numbness, silence.

Dealing with your rage and grief will give you life. That is both the good news and the bad news: The solution is at hand. Wherever the great dilemma exists is where the great growth is, too. —Anne Lamott

Don't get me wrong: grief sucks, it really does. Unfortunately, though, avoiding it robs us of life, of the now, of a sense of living spirit.

Does taking the life of the perpetrator return your mom? No.

When you have a major loss in your life, the first thing you need to do is tell God exactly how you feel.

Grief is a form of validation; it says the wound mattered. It mattered. You mattered. That's not the way life was supposed to go.

Before the trip I read that pilgrims often bring a small rock or stone from their home. It represents a burden they've been carrying or a loved one they are grieving or a sin for which they're doing penance. At some point on the Camino, they lay down that stone. The most popular place is at the Cruz de Ferro in Spain, the highest point on the Camino Frances.

We are contented with our day when we have been able to bear our grief in silence, and act as if we were not suffering.

But we get accustomed to mental as well as bodily pain, without, for all that, losing our sensibility to it. It becomes a habit of our lives, and we cease to imagine a condition of perfect ease as possible for us. Desire is chastened into submission, and we are contented with our day when we have been able to bear our grief in silence and act as if we were not suffering.

Only those who know the supremacy of intellectual life - the life which has a seed of ennobling thought and purpose within it - can understand the grief of one who falls from that serene activity into the absorbing, soul-wasting struggle with worldly annoyances.

Our dead are never dead to us until we have forgotten them.