My husband Don's mother, Denise, was diagnosed with cancer, and she was given eight months to live. We decided to go and stay there and help live her days with her, 'cause you don't get those chances again, right?
It's daunting to go back through the past, to read tweets and come across Facebook profiles of people who have passed away. It stirs up memories you never actually shared online or never will share online. It was a very emotional process.
I can replace things, but I could never replace my wife and kids.
I've lost loved ones in my life who never knew how much I loved them. Now I live with the regret that my true feelings for them never were revealed.
The older you get, the more you live with ghosts.
There are certain people who aren't with me any more, but they're with me in spirit. I just want to do them proud and live up to expectations that they had.
So we dream on. Thus we invent our lives. We give ourselves a sainted mother, we make our father a hero; and someone’s older brother and someone’s older sister – they become our heroes too. We invent what we love and what we fear. There is always a brave lost brother – and a little lost sister, too. We dream on and on: the best hotel, the perfect family, the resort life. And our dreams escape us almost as vividly as we can imagine them.
One more thing. The people and the friends that we have lost... or the dreams that have faded... never forget them.
My heart reaches out to those whose loved ones were lost on MH17.
I was secretly convinced that with such a marvel one would be able to write anything, from novels to encyclopedias, and letters whose supernatural power would surpass any postal limitations--a letter written with that pen would reach the most remote corners of the world, even that unknowable place to which my father said my mother had gone and from where she would never return.
We may believe that we shall know each other's forms hereafter; and in the bright fields of the better land call the lost dead to us.
The manic pursuit of success cost me everything I could love: my wife, my three children, some friends I would have liked to grow old with.
The disciples found angels at the grave of Him they loved; and we should always find them too, but that our eyes are too full of tears for seeing.
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night.
Many of you have loved ones who are wandering off the path to eternal life. You wonder what more you can do to bring them back. You can depend on the Lord to draw closer to them as you serve Him in faith.
Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.
My mom is from New Orleans. And all of my maternal relatives were there during Katrina. We couldn't even find my uncle for four months. We literally didn't know where he was. I had been there just four days before the storm hit.
There is anguish in the recollection that we have not adequately appreciated the affection of those whom we have loved and lost.
I lost everyone I loved," I tell him. I wait for him to look at me, and then I add, "The day I met you.
Some of us only meet in the most fleeting moments; some of us never meet, but still hear about one another and therefore cherish what we know from what we've heard, and mourn the loss, even though we're spared what the close-loved ones must endure - the ongoing pain of an empty place in the heart for the rest of life.
I do feel my loved ones that have passed on; I feel them looking over my shoulder... So yeah, that's pretty profound, when you're not expecting it, you didn't particularly believe in it and then it just sort of happens too often to ignore.
All the friends that I loved and wanted to reward are dead, and all the enemies that I hated and I had marked out for punishment are turned to my friends.
