Right away, death is word-eating.
It hurts when they’re gone. And it doesn’t matter if it’s slow or fast, whether it’s a long drawn-out disease or an unexpected accident. When they’re gone the world turns upside down and you’re left holding on, trying not to fall off.
Death never pierces the heart so much as when it takes someone we love; cleaving the heart they held with their passing.
It was the sound of a thousand hungry children crying, ten thousand widows tearing their hair over their husband’s graves, a chorus of angels singing the last dirge on the day of God’s death.
They lost the hope of a better relationship with him when he died. They don’t want to remember the truth right now.
Lucky is the spouse who dies first, who never has to know what survivors endure.
My mother’s family is passionate about visiting and cleaning the graves of their deceased. Once a year, the Peeks and the Nolens would gather to clean the tombstones and plant flowers at the grave sites of their people. Once, in Piedmont, when I was a little boy, I was helping to clean a grave of an ancestor of my grandfather named Jerry Mire Peek. When I asked my cousin Clyde whom this unknown relation was named after, he said, “He was named after the prophet Jerry Mire.
At sunset the little soul that had come with the dawning went away, leaving heartbreak behind it
It was only the thought that Deets was still knowing him, somehow, that kept him from feeling totally alone.
What a thing to acknowledge in your heart! To lose a brother is to lose someone with whom you can share the experience of growing old, who is supposed to bring you a sister-in-law and nieces and nephews, creatures to people the tree of your life and give it new branches. To lose your father is to lose the one whose guidance and help you seek, who supports you like a tree trunk supports its branches. To lose your mother, well, that is like losing the sun above you. It is like losing-I’m sorry, I would rather not go on.