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Image of the quote is loading... SaveSave The real hell of this,

The real hell of this,” he told her, “is that you’re going to get through it.

Gail Caldwell
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We need imperfection in our relationships, else we would die from the thickness of intimacy.
Gail Caldwell
It's taken years for me to understand that dying doesn't end the story; it transforms it. Edits, rewrites, the blur, aand epiphany of one-way dialogue. Most of us wander in and out of one another's lives until not death, but distance, does us part-- time and space and heart's weariness are the blander executioners or human connection.
Gail Caldwell
Maybe this is the point: to embrace the core sadness of life without toppling headlong into it, or assuming it will define your days.
Gail Caldwell
What they never tell you about grief is that missing someone is the simple part.
Gail Caldwell
I know now that we never get over great losses; we absorb them, and they carve us into different, often kinder, creatures.
Gail Caldwell
Counting on each other became automatic. When I found a sweater in Texas I wanted, I learned to buy two, which was easier than seeing the look of disappointment on Caroline's face when I returned home with only one. When she went out from the boathouse on a windy day, she gave me her schedule in advance, which assuaged her worst-case scenario of flipping the boat, being hit on the head by an oar, and leaving Lucille stranded at home. I still have my set of keys to her house, to locks and doors that no longer exist, and I keep them in my glove compartment, where they have been moved from one car to another in the past couple of years. Someday I will throw them in the Charles, where I lost the seat to her boat and so much else.
Gail Caldwell
It's and old, old story: I had a friend and we shared everything, and then she died and so we shared that, too.
Gail Caldwell
I know now that we never get over great losses; we absorb them, and they carve us into different, often kinder, creatures. ...We tell the story to get them back, to capture the traces of footfalls through the snow.
Gail Caldwell
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