I was not good at the whole making-death-a-positive-transition thing. How could I? I wanted her to fight to the last breath. It was a mistake. I should have listened to her fear, comforted her. Instead I’d promised her that everything would be okay, that she would heal.
He’s made a mistake in coming here tonight. He’d wanted to see a room filled with ruffly knickknacks and lacy gewgaws. A room like any other, to indicate that she was a woman like any other.
Sometimes love means trusting people to make their own decisions. In other words, shutting up.
Sometimes being a good friend means saying nothing.” “I’m just supposed to watch her make a mistake?” “Sometimes, yes. And then you stand by to pick up the pieces.
When you’re a mom, you learn about fear. You’re always afraid. Always. About everything from cupboard doors to kidnappers to weather. There is nothing that can’t hurt our kids, I swear.” She turned. “The irony is they need us to be strong.
I have never known how to say goodbye. It is a failing that has been with me all of my life. It’s especially problematic, given how often partings have come up.
Finding your passion isn’t just about careers and money. It’s about finding your authentic self. The one you’ve buried beneath other people’s needs.
What I know now about life is this: your mother is a part of everything you do and everything you are.
Memories are who we are. In the end, that’s all the luggage you take with you. Love and Memories are what last.
In the sea of grief, there were islands of grace, moments in time when one could remember what was left rather than all that had been lost.
I know about forgiving people and loving them anyway, even after they hurt you.
From the first time we met, we knew everything that mattered about each other, didn’t we? We just knew. I guess that’s what best friends are: parts of each other.
There are always times in life that you don’t fit in. But you have to go forward and make a place for yourself. That’s what growing up is all about. Being strong and believing in yourself-even when you’re most afraid.
To those who are here, those who are gone, and those who are lost.
It isn’t about being at the same school or the same town or even the same room. It’s about being together. Love is a choice you make.
Then he left her there, standing alone, surrounded by word ghosts; things she could have said.
She still felt shell-shocked by all of it, numb. Beneath the numbness, though, was a raw and terrible anger that was unlike anything she’d felt before. She had so little experience with genuine anger that it scared her. She actually worried that if she started screaming, she’d never stop.
He is a man, and he is afraid. This is not a good combination.
Lately he’d been seen going out less and less, becoming that strangest of animals in a small town: a loner.
If I have learned anything in this long life of mine, it is this: in love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are.