Grief - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
I could write a million letters, each one the same as the last in sentiment and cadence. They stay the same, only the word arrangement changes. It boils down to one thing, I miss you. You should be here. Ultimately, no one knows if that is selfish or not and even if it is, to hell with the rest of the world and their opinions. You should be here. I miss you. Your pretty blue eyes, beautiful smile, wily heart, torn mind, and kind, tortured soul. My heart is missing an integral piece, a part that keeps it from working correctly. When will I let go?
The Monster Call Pain
My grief is like the ocean
It comes in waves, engulfs and overwhelms
The darkness unfolds, strangling my veins
Cobwebbed and tangled my brain
My heart and soul played mind games
I am lost in time, I seek the light
I am blinded by the tears in my eyes
Relief, Comfort and Peace refused me
While this pain continues to abuse me
The monsters laughed
They played in my head
Whispering while I lay numb in my bed
Wake me please, I can’t be dead
This grief, this pain, it must not be fed
I can’t breathe, I’m all choked up
My body frail and tied into knots
I must escape, this can’t be my fate
But I am swallowed and buried
Into the belly of
The Monster Call Pain
Sarah had grieved so many times. The drugs had taken him away a piece at a time. Once he had been the boy that held her hand on the way to swings, squealing with delight and demanding to be pushed higher. He had been generous with his smiles and free with his hugs. In his early teens the remoteness had begun and she chalked it up to hormones. That was her first grieving. Soon after that his grades collapsed and she grieved for the future she had hoped he would have. The night the police brought him home with charges of shoplifting and he had screamed obscenities at her before storming into the night, her heart had felt like it was beating in a tight cage. Then his school called to inform her that he had quit, he was sixteen, there was nothing they could do. With no way to break through his silence a chasm opened between them. After a few weeks of noticing her belongings disappearing she began to cry as if he were dead. This could not be her son. This could not be her life.
The grief surged with every expelled breath, always reaching higher peaks, never sufficiently soothed by her long intakes of the damp spring air. Tears began to spill from her helpless eyes onto the newly growing grass. Her gaze fell from bloom to bloom. In that moment the sure knowledge that life would go on without him, that time was only stopped for her, undid her completely. All pretence of quiet coping was lost and she sank to the damp bench not caring about the water that quickly soaked her to the skin. Her black fingers clasped his school photograph, he was smiling, and why shouldn't he? He was an A grade student headed for a top university, a church youth leader and popular with his peers. But all that cop saw was a black skinned male. How did that make him less human? How did that mean he didn't need to breathe? How did that make his human rights null and void? She cast her eyes to God, she needed his love more than ever now. "Dear God, take care of my baby."
Grief. Feels like emptiness in you heart, a shear of nothingness that somehow takes over and holds your soul and threatens to kill you entirely. It gives you this heavy feeling that’s like the weight of the world is resting on your shoulders and there is nothing you can do to get out from under it. Its like this hole in your heart that is the shape of the one you lost and that makes you feel the need to wipe away any non-existent tears that you want to form but can’t.
Finding my Soul a Home
I lay here in the dark all alone
Drinking in the moonlight
From the palm of my hands, forlorn
How I can find my soul a home
It’s been battered, used and worn
Tattered, bruised and torn
Storm clouds are now gathering
The wind is shouting, it’s like a roar
My poor soul searched for some place to shelter in
Just for a moment
A warm covering
It’s sad to say but true
Though I’m feeling quite blue
From all this silent suffering
I can hear my heart moan
As it whispers
No one should ever be alone
Desperately, I shiver
I must now find my soul a home
The grief came in waves and threatened to consume him entirely. It was his master, for now. He was at the mercy of it's whims and at times it bit at him with such ferocity he feared it would leave him an empty shell.
The emptiness in his heart, the numbness pounding his brain, the salty tears that flowed unchecked from his eyes, the shear nothingness that now took hold of his soul threatened to engulf him entirely. His legs buckled, knees sinking into the sodden earth as he watched the casket lowered to it's final resting place.
Theo's skin was greyed in a way that made it look thicker, more leathery, as if all the blood had leached into his core or else drained into those oversized feet. It hung on his skull like pastry draped over cut apple. Every movement he made was more crisp than usual, robotic even. We all knew Elsa was near the end, but we didn't know she'd take the best part of Theo with her...
The room was beautiful, the flowers fresh, perfumed. There was a view of the mountains and outside the garden was perfection. Cynthia eased herself into the soft chair while the nurse put on her favourite music, Joni Mitchell, starting with "All I Want." Her husband sat at her side, quietly holding her hand. The nurse sat at her side. "Cynthia, would you like some tea and cake?"
"Oh yes, carrot cake, I believe Todd asked you to have it." Todd nodded, but he couldn't speak. It was all he could do to hold back his tears. Thirty eight years of love and he would leave this scented room alone. But her pain was immense and the doctors could promise nothing but a morphine drip from here on in. Cynthia clasped his arm. "I love you now more than I ever did, darling, and I'll be waiting for you. You know that right?" Todd nodded again. The nurse was back with the cake and a tea pot of Earl Grey. Cynthia ate a small piece, Todd sipped at tea.
The nurse sat and explained how the poison worked, she'd feel no pain, just a moment of confusion and thirst. She asked Cynthia to explain what she understood, that she knew the potion would kill her. She did. Todd wrapped her in his arms and kissed her grey dashed hair. There is nothing that could prepare him for the pain of this farewell. Cynthia kissed him gently on his wet cheek and downed the fluid in one before putting a chocolate in her mouth to get rid of the bitter taste. Todd squeezed her tighter and to the sound of "Big Yellow Taxi," she slipped away to heaven.
Her heart was as barren as the moors on a desolate winter morn.
The awful hollowness, the waves of wretchedness threatened to engulf her mind, body and soul.
Her blue-gray eyes well up and tears streak down her dirty face, her lips trembling until she bites them and throws back her shoulders, marching next to me as her tears dry on her cheeks.
One day he will grieve for Kiesel, but first he would have to accept he is really gone. But for now he holds that memory back. Murphy had grieved so many times for Martin Kiesel, saw where he was going, tried to stop him as a good friend should. And now the same grief felt like emptiness in Murphy's heart, a shear of nothingness that snowballed as memories from his own past, gatecrashed and ambushed him too. But it somehow takes over, and held his soul and threatened to kill him entirely. He couldn't help thinking, he'd let Kiesel down he should have tried harder, to stop his friend going down this path. A suicidal path, after the loss of Annya.
I never got to tell her I loved her one last time. I didn’t get to hold her close, before she slipped away. I never even got to look into her loving, beautiful face, which always brought me so much happiness, before she died.
It happened quickly and quietly while I was away, brooding over some unimportant business obsession. I remember returning home to find that death had taken her. She had been my anchor when I started to drift. My friend when I had none. She had always been there for me with a smile shining in her bright blue eyes; and now she was gone. Forever. My anger slowly dissolved to sadness as tears embraced my eyes, making the black letters and gray background of her headstone blend together. Waves of pain washed over me, and my body convulsed to meet each one. She was gone, her light consumed by death’s empty darkness. All I had left of her was the fading image in my mind. I could still see her, sitting in her wicker chair, as always, her soft, loving hands folded in her lap and her auburn tresses spilling down to the hem of her apron. But no matter how hard I try I cannot fully see her face. Like a ship straining to see the light in a storm, I desperately search for a picture of her face in my memories. None comes. All I remember is the brightness of her blue eyes; the details of her face are gone, like her. In despair, I press my forehead against the cold ground, as close as I can get it.