I am always saddened by the death of a good person. It is from this sadness that a feeling of gratitude emerges. I feel honored to have known them and blessed that their passing serves as a reminder to me that my time on this beautiful earth is limited and that I should seize the opportunity I have to forgive, share, explore, and love. I can think of no greater way to honor the deceased than to live this way.
Steve MaraboliMots clés life love death mourning forgive death-of-a-loved-one
Let me be to my sad self hereafter kind.
Peter R. PounceyMots clés mourning grief grieving
The reason he could do none of the necessary things to take care of himself, on the few occasions when he thought of them, was that he was preoccupied elsewhere.
Peter R. PounceyBereavement seemed to work on him as a kind of blanket allergy, making him edgy and irritable to all the outside world. And of course it was reciprocal; the world receded on him.
Peter R. PounceyShe was the sun of my life, the gilder of every pleasure, the soother of every sorrow, I had not a thought concealed from her, and it is as if I had lost a part of myself.
Cassandra AustenMots clés mourning jane-austen sisters
I have more than once tried to analyse this apparently deliberate form of self-torture that seems common to so many people in face of the extinction of a valued life, human or animal, and it springs, I think, from a negation of death, as if by summoning and arranging these subjective images one were in some way cheating the objective fact. It is, I believe, an entirely instinctive process, and the distress it brings with it is an incidental, a by-product, rather than a masochistic end.
Gavin MaxwellMots clés death mourning memory grief
I accepted all this counsel politely, with a glassy smile and a glaring sense of unreality. Many adults seemed to interpret this numbness as a positive sign; I remember particularly Mr. Beeman (an overly clipped Brit in a dumb tweed motoring cap, whom despite his solicitude I had come to hate, irrationally, as an agent of my mother’s death) complimenting me on my maturity and informing me that I seemed to be “coping awfully well.” And maybe I was coping awfully well, I don’t know. Certainly I wasn’t howling aloud or punching my fist through windows or doing any of the things I imagined people might do who felt as I did. But sometimes, unexpectedly, grief pounded over me in waves that left me gasping; and when the waves washed back, I found myself looking out over a brackish wreck which was illumined in a light so lucid, so heartsick and empty, that I could hardly remember that the world had ever been anything but dead.
Donna TarttNot every loss was confirmed by an officer at the door. Nor a telegram with the power to sink a fleet. Loss, often the worst kind, also arrived through the deafening quiet of an absence.
Kristina McMorrisMots clés wwii war silence loss death mourning tragedy drama grief telegram officer
Good had defeated evil, people proclaimed, a justification for atrocities best left forgotten. They would cling to this oversimplified truth while trading pats on the back and placing flowers on graves.
Kristina McMorrisMots clés wwii evil war loss death mourning tragedy good grief grave
I'm not a fool, I knew from the beginning
what couldn't happen. What couldn't happen
didn't. The enterprise is abandoned.
But half our life is
dreams, delirium, everything that underlies
that feeds
that keeps alive the illusion of sanity, semi-
sanity, we allow
others to see. The half of me that feeds the rest
is in mourning. Mourns. Each time we must
mourn, we fear this is the final mourning, this time
mourning never will lift.
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