I am not there.
I did not die.
The song is ended but the melody lingers on…
Those we love and lose are always connected by heartstrings into infinity.
If you’re going through hell, keep going.
If tears could build a stairway,
And memories a lane,
I’d walk right up to Heaven
And bring you home again.
It’s easier to miss her at a cemetery, where she’s never been anything but dead, than to miss her at all the places where she was alive.
But she wasn’t around, and that’s the thing when your parents die, you feel like instead of going in to every fight with backup, you are going into every fight alone.
Losing people you love affects you. It is buried inside of you and becomes this big, deep hole of ache. It doesn’t magically go away, even when you stop officially mourning.
Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.
The weird, weird thing about devastating loss is that life actually goes on. When you’re faced with a tragedy, a loss so huge that you have no idea how you can live through it, somehow, the world keeps turning, the seconds keep ticking.
We bereaved are not alone. We belong to the largest company in all the world—the company of those who have known suffering.
Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. You get used to the weight, how it holds you in place.
When a friend of Abigail and John Adams was killed at Bunker Hill, Abigail’s response was to write a letter to her husband and include these words, My bursting heart must find vent at my pen.
It is the capacity to feel consuming grief and pain and despair that also allows me to embrace love and joy and beauty with my whole heart. I must let it all in.
Tears are God’s gift to us. Our holy water. They heal us as they flow.