Terri Irwin Quotes

It's never nice to lose someone close to you; unfortunately, life goes on, and we have to make peace with it and move on.

Grief is a terrible, painful place. You can't grind away on grief in a solid way and say, 'I'm going to work on this until it's over' because it will be with you for the rest of your life, whatever you do. So, you deal with it and move on.

I don't move away from grief, rather through it.

I don't deal with death very well. My brother, John Candy, my dad, my mom, Brandon Tartikoff just a couple of weeks ago. I mean, you lose a lot of people in your life, and that's one thing I am constantly working on - pain management.

It took about five years until we were properly over Freddie's passing. You learn to live with it.

None of us are immune to grief, and everyone who has suffered loss understands that grief changes, but you never wake up one morning and you've moved on. It stays with you, and, you know, you ebb and flow.

You learn to accept losing someone, but you never get over it.

We’re built to move on. Someone dies, no matter how close you are to them, you move on. That helps in a lot of ways.

I have discovered, passionate grief does not link us with the dead but cuts us off from them. This becomes clearer and clearer. It is just at those moments when I feel least sorrow - getting into my morning bath is usually one of them - that H. rushes upon my mind in her full reality, her otherness. Not, as in my worst moments, all foreshortened and patheticized and solemnized by my miseries, but as she is in her own right. This is good and tonic.

I think, in real life, when we're facing death - that is, when we come out on the other side of it, whether it's death of a friend or a family member - you come out on the other side of the mourning cherishing your life that much more.

When you lose a lover it's like getting a bad haircut. It grows back in time.

Since grief only aggravates your loss, grieve not for what is past.

When you lose a loved one, you come to these crossroads. You can take the path that leads you down the aisle of sadness, or you can say, 'I'm never going to let this person's memory die. I'm going to make sure everything they worked for continues.'

Time takes away the grief of men.

Finally there was a moment when it just hit me. John wouldn't want me to sit on my butt for the rest of my life feeling sorry for myself or sorry for him. As cheesy as it sounds, he would have wanted us to go on.

Grief and memory go together. After someone dies, that's what you're left with. And the memories are so slippery yet so rich.

When we lost Bobby, I would wake up in the morning and think, 'He's OK. He's in Heaven, and he's with Jack and a lot of my brothers and sisters and my parents.' So it made it very easy to get through the day thinking he was OK.

I lost three cousins and a best friend, and they all came at the wrong time. Everyone told me to be strong and that they were in a better place. But I didn't want to hear that. They were gone and I will never see them again.

If you live through the death of your child, you should be able to talk about it and let other people know it's OK to go on.

When it comes to the grieving process, we all try to ignore that feeling - but it's important to grieve. Even if something's happened for the best, you need to take that moment to feel something.

The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not "get over" the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.

If I should go before the rest of you Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone, Nor when I'm gone speak in a Sunday voice But be the usual selves that I have known. Weep if you must, Parting is hell, But life goes on, So sing as well.

Some people, they can't just move on, you know, mourn and cry and be done with it. Or at least seem to be. But for me... I don't know. I didn't want to fix it, to forget. It wasn't something that was broken. It's just...something that happened. And like that hole, I'm just finding ways, every day, of working around it. Respecting and remembering and getting on at the same time.

Mourning has its place but also its limits.