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It frustrated me that society was so determined to quantify grief, as if time could erase the potency of love. Or, on the other hand, how it dictated that grief for someone you knew fleetingly should be equally as fleeting. But while a mother who miscarries might not have ever had the chance to hold that child, they had plenty of time to love them, to dream and hope for them. And that means their grief is twofold—they’re not just grieving the child, but the life they never got to experience. Who are we to tell anyone their pain isn’t worthy?
“If you want something you don’t have,” he’d said, “you have to do something you’ve never done.”
“The truth is, grief never really goes away. Someone told me once that it’s like a bag that you always carry—it starts out as a large suitcase, and as the
years go by, it might reduce to the size of a purse, but you carry it forever.
“Don’t let the best parts of life pass you
by because you’re too scared of the unknown.” One last wink. “Be cautiously reckless.”
“But the secret to a beautiful death is to live a beautiful life. Putting your heart out there. Letting it get broken. Taking chances. Making mistakes.”
Grief is just love looking for a place to settle.
The secret to a beautiful death is living a beautiful life.
