Broken Heart Syndrome

[justanotherdropinthebucket]

[whenbirdsflysouth-deactivated20]

In the lonely light of morning In the wound that would not heal It’s the bitter taste of losing everything I’ve held so dear

Sarah Mclachlan 

(via whenbirdsflysouth)

[miscarriage-me]

[take-your-time-im-only-dying]

[t33sa327-blog]

“But she’s wrong about Hell. You don’t have to wait until you’re dead to get there.” — Susan Beth Pfeffer

[planetgrief]

When someone you love dies, and you’re not expecting it, you don’t lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time — the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes — when there’s a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she’s gone, forever — there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.

A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving (via planetgrief)

[momther-nature]

[druime]

The Five Stages of Grief by Stephen Criscolo on Flickr.

[brittanyksk]

Dear Mr. Hallmark, I am writing to you from heaven, and though it must appear A rather strange idea, I see everything from here. I just popped in to visit, your stores to find a card A card of love for my mother, as this day for her is hard. There must be some mistake I thought,...

[t33sa327-blog]

I don’t believe that grief passes away. It has its time and place forever. More time is added to it; it becomes a story within a story. But grief and griever alike endure. Wendell Berry

[something-vivid]

[t33sa327-blog]

We do not recover from the death of a loved one. In fact, we never recover from that death in the same way we recover from an illness or broken limb. It will always be a part of us—always—and to suggest otherwise is unrealistically and harshly to imply that we somehow “get over” the feelings about the event or stop experiencing painful reminiscences of the loved one or the death. A much more accurate metaphor is represented in the old Carole King song “Tapestry.” My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue An everlasting vision of the everchanging view A wondrous woven magic in bits of blue and gold A tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold. In fact our lives are “tapestries,” and the death of a loved one is a ripping, gaping, bleeding hole in the very midst of that tapestry of our life. How, then, is the tapestry rewoven? It does not, with the mere passage of time, magically pull itself back together. Rather, it is rewoven only with the initiative, energy, and strength of the survivor reaching in and grasping the torn ends of threads, painfully pulling them back and tying them together. And it is rewoven only with those persons around the survivor cutting threads from their own tapestries and bringing them to the survivor, with love and support and caring and tears and strength, helping to further tie the threads and fill in the gaping hole. So, eventually, the tapestry is rewoven. But that “glitch” is always there, the roughness of that reweaving is, and always will be, apparent. In fact it may be twenty years from now, as the survivor reviews the tapestry of his or her life, or is in a particular setting, or hears a song on the radio, or remembers a special day of the month, that the rewoven seam is seen and felt again, and the survivor remembers and cries, or feels sad, or is touched by the love and caring expressed by those whose threads are apparent there—and that is perfectly normal. We do not recover from a death, but when we allow others to help, we can reweave our tapestry. — Charles Meyer, in Surviving Death

[brittanyksk]

Dear Mr. Hallmark, I am writing to you from heaven, and though it must appear A rather strange idea, I see everything from here. I just popped in to visit, your stores to find a card A card of love for my mother, as this day for her is hard. There must be some mistake I thought,...

[shirleytrippjohnson]

[invisibletillforeverends-blog]

[double8born-deactivated20160927]

[zellenmarie-blog]

Broken

I find it          fascinating.          In a           sad,                                    heartbreaking     kind of way.                 That you can       grieve              for     someone who              really                     hasn’t    gone   anywhere.  It would seem                their body              remains.      Their voice,                       it stays the   same. But their   love,                           their heart , their soul,                     the one you    know,   It   is     nowhere.                             It  is     nothing.                                                   It        is       gone.      Then      all       that is left   to do, is           cry.                                    Mourn.                      Grieve.                                       For one was       once                          your     best friend.   Now          they are                                 simply                         but     a      name,                              a   face, a             feeling,

  etched               into your               fragile,                                 broken                                                     heart.