learning to lose
and getting to grips with grief — in any and every way, shape and size it shows up in life.
learning to lose
When you lose someone, in whatever capacity, you lose a universe of tiny things that existed between you. And perhaps what is worse, you also lose the potential that universe has to expand.
Last week I planted an acer in the furthest bed from the house, in honour of our new baby. The sapling is as tall as me and, by all accounts, it can grow forty feet tall. So, in thirty years’ time, if we’re still here I can come back and see this tree in its maturity. But the thought depresses me: in thirty years’ time I’ll be in my mid sixties and
... See moreWilliam Boyd • Any Human Heart
As long as there is love, there will be grief. The grief of time passing, of life moving on half-finished, of empty spaces that were once bursting with the laughter and energy of people we loved.
As long as there is love there will be grief because grief is love's natural continuation. It shows up in the aisles of stores we once frequented, in the h
... See moreGrief doesn't go away. It exists on a different plain from life and intersects less and less with life as time goes on. The last place it visits you is in dreams. By this time, you don’t want it to go away.
a house where you have cried over multiple heartbreaks is infinitely better than a house where you’ve only cried over one, defining, bad thing.
Christina Joyce Hauser • The Crane Wife: A Memoir in Essays
What I understand now is that I could never escape from my love for S, nor would I want to. To be loved by him, to love and care for him, is neither my birthright or destiny. It’s the groove worn into the earth by repetitive pacing over thousands of days. It’s the room I’m locked in that I can never get out of. It’s the room that I would return to ... See more
no exit
“Give to someone only as much of you they are able to receive. If their vessel isn’t spacious enough to hold all of you, there will only be an overflow of rejection.”
pure love never dies, we just stop updating the context that feeds the immediate feeling.
In my thirties, I learned that there is a type of pain in life that I want to feel. It’s the inevitable, excruciating, necessary pain of losing beautiful things: trust, dreams, health, animals, relationships, people. This kind of pain is the price of love, the cost of living a brave, openhearted life—and I’ll pay it.