Grief Doesn't Get Easier Quotes

I knew it was loads easier to crumble under the weight of grief than it was to stand up with it on your back, but every day you carry it forward you get stronger and stronger, and eventually it doesn’t feel as heavy as it once did.

But grief doesn’t get easier. It just gets familiar. You learn to live with

The idea that a loss will get easier as time passes, is complete bullshit. It doesn’t get easier; you just learn to function while balancing the large burden on your shoulders.

Grief, especially when it's still raw, is like having a thirst that no amount of water quenches. It can't be consoled; it can't be alleviated. It's unrelenting and constant. I wish I could tell her that it will get easier with time. But if I told her that I'd also have to tell her that easier doesn't mean it ever goes away.

Life is hard. It’s cruel sometimes. It’s merciless and unfair, but we all go through difficult times, one way or another. You’ve had more than your share of knocks lately, I’ll give you that, but it doesn’t mean you get to quit. No one gets to quit. You keep fighting, every day, and sooner or later, the grief fades a little. You grow stronger, find joy again, and everything gets easier. You come out of it more equipped to handle the next wave, which will come eventually. There will always be waves.

The stark truth is, of course, that grief never dies. The American counsellor Lois Tonkin reminds us that loss isn’t something we ‘get over’, and it doesn’t necessarily lessen, either. It remains at the core of us and we just expand our lives around it, burying it deeper from the surface. So with time it may become more distant, more compartmentalised and therefore easier to manage, but it does not go away.

And the pain doesn't get easier. It may lose its priority in your life, but it will always be a big fucking crater right in the center of you. The best you can do is try to keep it from swallowing you whole.

Does it get easier, at least?" "No, it doesn't. You just get used to the grief.

It doesn’t get easier, Grace, so I’m not going to tell you that it does. It will never be easy. It’s like living with a big black hole in your world, but it gets okay for you to remember, not so painful.’ He unconsciously placed his hand over his heart. ‘It’s as if the you that you were before gets replaced with a new you. How you feel, the hurt, the pain, the longing, the sadness, it becomes part of you and you kind of grow to fit the new you, where all those terrible feelings and that energy-sapping grief are your new normal.’ He looked across at her. ‘Does that make any sense?’ Grace

I might beat her today. If that ball is in and she misses it, I can beat her today. But that will not change the fact that she is incomparable. And she will win another Slam in ’96. And then probably another, if she goes easier on her ankle. And what am I going to do? Keep coming back to try to take it from her? Keep holding on for dear life to what I should have let go of long ago? Is that what I want my life to be? Trying to deny what Nicki Chan is? Where is the beauty in that? My shot arches toward her, over the net. Nicki’s running deep. The ball goes past her. She’s not going to get it. I can feel myself winning this thing and then letting go of it all. Letting her take the rest from here on out. I am ready for that. I am ready to give it to her. To let her have it. Finally. But as I watch, the ball lands one centimeter past the baseline. The linesman calls it out. I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. Nicki screams into the sky, both arms outstretched. The crowd is up on their feet, cheering. I just lost the tiebreak. I just lost the match. I can barely catch my breath. I don’t slam down my racket. I don’t scream. I don’t bury my face in my hands. I just look at Bowe. Nicki Chan has won the US Open. I lost. The match and my record, twice in one year. I wait for the skies to open up and shame to rain down on me. I wait for my belly to split in half. For the grief to overtake me. But…it doesn’t come. Bowe is smiling. And Gwen has her arms out, waiting to give me a hug. Ali is clapping wildly, even though I lost. And the thing I don’t understand is that I still feel that hum. That hum in my bones. That sense of weightlessness and groundedness. That sense that the day is mine. That I can do anything. Nicki Chan looks at me. And I smile at her. I am no longer the greatest tennis player in the world. For the first time in my life, I can be…something else.

When my mama died," he said, without looking up, "the adults were always saying it would get easier." Beatrice knew that James's mother was dead, but he never talked about her, and she was surprised to hear him do so now. "That was a while ago," he went on, "And it's still ... well, I miss her. And I hate that she's not here. I feel like there's a big central piece that's been ripped out of me. I think the grown-ups lie to try to make you feel better, but it isn't true. It doesn't get easier. But you do get stronger, and that's ... well. It's something.

Some people say it gets easier, but I think you just adapt. The grief doesn’t go; you just mould yourself around it.

But I would miss her; I’d miss her a lot. Then I thought about the way each time a record album is played the grooves that hold the stylus get a tiny bit deeper. Grief is like that, etching its way deeper and deeper into my heart. But then, at the same time, grief is a talent, a skill, something I grow better at with each loss. It doesn’t seem like both ideas can be true, but I think they are. Even as the grief deepens, it becomes easier to carry.

That pain doesn’t go away. People say grief gets easier with time. It doesn’t. We just learn to ignore it better. We push it to the back of our minds and occupy ourselves with whatever the fuck we can in order to not think about it, to not feel it.