death-of-a-loved-one

I felt a numb shock as I drove home anxious to get my chocolate flowers and wondering how my mother arranged to get them delivered to me at the exact time of her passing as promised. I arrived home to a note on my door to go to the neighbor on the right. I knocked at the door and the grouchy older man answered._Without saying a word, he went to his refrigerator, opened it and said, "I think these are for you."He handed me the large bouquet of fruits all cut out like flowers and dipped in chocolate."It looks like chocolate flowers." he said with a grin, adding "I had a few, and they were great!" I held my delivery. I opened the small envelope and read the card: Dear Jori, We appreciate you showing us homes and although it has been months, we thought of you and wanted to do something nice for you today. I hope you remember us. The Johnsons This was a previous client who was a pastor. He never knew I had a mother who had cancer nor did I ever mention the conversation about the chocolate flowers. It had been several months since I had heard from this couple who were considering purchasing a home. I called the client, whom I haven't spoken to in such a long time. I was confused and wanted to know what made them decide to send me chocolate flowers, and why that day, of all days? He said it was his wife's idea to do something nice for someone and they agreed it on it being me. Mrs. Johnson thought of the chocolate flowers.

But love is this really powerful thing that everyone's got if they'd just learn how to accept it. I mean, come on. If it's something we all have to give, and if it's something we all want, doesn't that mean there's exactly enough to go around?

People who fall in love can fall out of it.

And now the birds were singing overhead, and there was a soft rustling in the undergrowth, and all the sounds of the forest that showed that life was still being lived blended with the souls of the dead in a woodland requiem. The whole forest now sang for Granny Weatherwax.

Where did my friend go? Was there a place they all gathered, the lost and self destructive? Was there a room they put them in? Necks burnt with rope or holes in their skulls. Beach-water bloated. I will know this at the end of my conversation with life. I will speak and laugh until my tongue falls out and then I will know this. I will know because he will tell me when I see him. How will I enter the theatre? With a hole in my head or exploded by sea. Wrists.

After the service was over, I whispered to one of my fellow staff members, "If I commit suicide, I'll tattoo a message on my body. People will read the message on my body, if my dead body alone is not communication enough. I will make my message clear.""Well," he shrugged, "they could always just close the lid of the coffin.

Because it was all I wanted to fucking know. It was all I wanted to know in this fucking world: where did the beautiful boys go? Where did the beautiful boys go? Where the hell did they go?

Death is the destroyer and giver of sense.

But now the other half of "us" was gone and, lying there in my shadowy room, I'd be struck with this realization that I had no clue how to be just me again.

Your mother contained a good spirit. A loving spirit. A spirit that will not cease to exist.Eva looked at him, her brows furrowed.Rovender placed his arm around Eva's shoulders. "You see, she lives within you now, in all of the lessons that she taught you. Lessons you will never forget. Lessons you will always carry with you... and will one day pass on.

Even if you are alive somewhere, the absence of the other person who used to be there beside you obliterates your presence. Everything in the room, even the stars in the sky, can disappear in a second, changing one scene for another, just like in a dream.

Although it's great to appear to a feast, home is always sweet, though it may be lonely and cold like death

You live on in the wind that wraps around me to remind me of the absence of your embraceYou live on in her eyes, when she looks at me I see your faceYou live on in the moon that revives the light you shone in my nightYou live on in her smile, when she laughs at my jokes, your voice echoes in her throatYou live on in our song that I play on Saturdays all day longYou live on in her touch, when she wipes my tears away and assures me I'll see you againYou live on...When I'm with her, you're with us

Not the slow Hearse, where nod the sable plumes, ____The Parian Statue, bending o'er the Urn, ____The dark robe floating, the dejection worn ____On the dropt eye, and lip no smile illumes; Not all this pomp of sorrow, that presumes ____It pays Affection's debt, is due concern ____To the FOR EVER ABSENT, tho' it mournFashion's allotted time. If Time consumes, While Life is ours, the precious vestal-flame ____Memory shou'd hourly feed;__f, thro' each day, ____She with whate'er we see, hear, think, or say, Blend not the image of the vanish'd Frame, ____O! can the alien Heart expect to prove, In worlds of light and life, a reunited love!

Death had touched her, hurt her, and left her to deal with its disagreeable aftermath.

When my husband died, people kept telling me not to cry. People kept trying to help me to forget. But I didn't want to forget... So I realize, that if it's hard for me, how much harder it must be for you.

The dead only knows their world.

The greatest loss is the lost of life.