death-of-a-loved-one

Grief is NOT a mental illness or an emotional disorder. Anyone who tells you otherwise has never experienced it for themselves.

When family gathers around for a dying loved one, I have realised, that it probably does more good for the living, than for the dying. Sometimes, death can bring the living together, and death can cause the living to find solace in one another. In this way, death is a part of life, and those who die can in fact give gifts to the living, gifts that they were not able to give while they were still alive and well.

Do not live because of the fear of death. Live because of the fear of the death of the real reason why you live. Death is no respecter of persons. Death can come when we have not even given him our attention. Death doesn't mind that you are in tension and even when you in the mid of doing something at his arrival, you shall go with nothing. The most important thing to death is to take you at a sudden. Mind your time then! Mind your true purpose! And mind the real reasons why you wake up each day and retire when the sun sets! Life is once, live it well!

I live nearby a graveyard, that's where I get all my inspiration for wisdom and life

Each man lives in his own universe and when he dies the world is over

Grief, no matter how you try to cater to its wail, has a way of fading away.

A carpenter is hired- a roof repaired, a porch built. Everything that can be fixed. June, July, August. Everyday we hear their laughter. I think of the painting by van Gogh, the man in the chair. Everything wrong, and nowhere to go. His hands over his eyes.

The Lord gives a good many things twice over, but he don't give ye a mother but once.

The place of horror turns out to be no more than a green scoop, sometimes shadowed, sometimes shining with the bilberries and grass within it, as if a mouth had opened from which streamed a beam of light. So my uncle Robert's death, which had looked from a distance to be an all-consuming tragedy was, close-up, the story of a man finding release from his pain and how his brother had showed such defiant love. The past was a grave, a trap - and yet, also neither of these. Just light, coming and going.At the wolf pit you imagine you will stare into a hole littered with bones, but what draws you to that place is not what you take from it. The wolf pit seems a delicate illusion. You walk towards it; there is nothing, just a curve of the moor; then it is a soft green light, and then it is nothing again.

The graveyard is the everlasting home of every man.

We came us spirit into the world. We shall depart us spirit out of the world.

My heart was oaken before you set it on fire. It will continue to smolder, long after the flame that ignited it has gone.

When his wife was at his side, she was also in front of him, marking out the horizon of his life. Now the horizon is empty: the view has changed.

When you lose someone untimely; all left is never ending guilt, fear, and pain.

I think about all the people I wish could die instead of you.

When you loose someone untimely; all left is never ending guilt, fear, and pain.

Life goes on, whether you like it or not. I just wished it could lurch forward. Time is the best doctor, they say, and that__ bullshit, because from certain pains you can never heal. They keep screaming inside of you till eventually you get used to the noise and can hear again the life outside, but they are always there, aching, clawing at your soul.

Three, 300, or 3,000 - these are the number of unknown days, a week, a year, or a decade, each far too precious little and yet, poignantly too much at the same time, to see an irrevocably declined loved one languish and suffer. That irreversible release lingers in the doorway, but is never quite ushered all the way in, to comfort and carry our loved one to that Better Place._ When the time finally comes, we can be enveloped in a warm cloak of long-awaited acceptance and peace that eases our own pain; that quiets the grief which has moaned inside of us, at least some, every single one one of those bittersweet days, weeks... or years.