Thoughts on my grandmothers passing
I’ve known two versions of myself—the Lauren I was for 26 years and the woman I became after my mother died. I would never be the same after experiencing such a catastrophic loss. How could I be, after seeing her lifeless body being carried down the hallway of our local hospice? The death of her was the rebirth of me.
I know two versions of myself
There are three deaths. The first is when the body ceases to function. The second is when the body is consigned to the grave. The third is that moment, sometime in the future, when your name is spoken for the last time.
David Eagleman • Sum: Forty Tales from the Afterlives
who will tell her story?
our lives, thanks to their finitude, are inevitably full of activities that we’re doing for the very last time. Just as there will be a final occasion on which I pick up my son—a thought that appalls me, but one that’s hard to deny, since I surely won’t be doing it when he’s thirty—there will be a last time that you visit your childhood home, or... See more
Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals
Or perhaps a reminder that the pain is a little less vivid with each passing day?
This is a statement that clearly states what it feels,
People said it would get better with time, but the guilt that rest between time and better is eating at me. I cry less, well not much at all. How quickly the vividness of your passing has left me, or maybe reality wont fully allow for it
“All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. Writers are like that: remembering where we were, what valley we ran through, what the banks were like, the light that was there and the route back to our original place. It is emotional memory-what the nerves and the skin remember as well as how it appeared. And a... See more
No one worries about you like your mother, and when she is gone, the world seems unsafe, things that happen unwieldy. You cannot turn to her anymore, and it changes your life forever. There is no one on earth who knew you from the day you were born; who knew why you cried, or when you'd had enough food; who knew exactly what to say when you were... See more
Link
pretty much this
Slowness in the grief.
fog and introspection.
Lauren Boswell • Spread the Jelly
this is it for sure