All these years I fell for the great palace lie that grief should be gotten over as quickly as possible and as privately. But what I've discovered since is that lifelong fear of grief keeps us in a barren, isolated place and that only grieving can heal grief; the passage of time will lessen the acuteness, but time alone, without the direct experience of grief, will not heal it. [Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith]
Grief is a slippery sucker. It can come out of nowhere as easily as it can sit on my bed and steal all the Light. It takes my breath away and leaves me feeling I’ll float away in it. Forever and ever. Amen.
What I’m learning Now is that Grief is also a BEautimous gift. Whether it comes in a HUGE box with ribbons and bows or from the bottom-most place in a box of cereal in the waxed-paper crinkles. Grief doesn’t scare me anymore.
The pleasure of remembering had been taken from me, because there was no longer anyone to remember with. It felt like losing your co-rememberer meant losing the memory itself, as if the things we'd done were less real and important than they had been hours before. [John Green, The Fault in Our Stars]
Feelings aren’t facts.
I love you, Currie