Quotes & Sayings About Letting Go Of Someone Who Died

My Dad was such an incredible person, and you have the option of just curling up in a dark corner and letting it all go or you have the option of standing strong, sticking together and carrying on what he lived and died for. And I think that's what's so important - to be able to carry on where he left off. — Bindi Irwin

As a good girl, my worship was small and my service was toxic because I didn't understand the completeness of my rescue. I knew I was going to heaven when I died, but I thought my life on earth was all up to me. Jesus saved me, and now he was standing back with his arms crossed, waiting to see how I would live my life. Service seemed a burden. Worship felt contrived. I had received Christ by faith for my salvation, but I was working hard for the rest. Until he said *enough*. When I began to understand that my true identity was not in how I looked, how I felt, or the lies I believed, my masks began to lose their staying power. It wasn't because I was trying hard to remove them. It was because I was seeing Jesus for who he really is, and in turn I was letting him see me. — Emily P. Freeman

When my sister was released from the mental hospital, she came to live with me in the tilting and crumbling one-bedroom house I'd bought with the small amount of money I inherited when our parents died. She arrived one afternoon unannounced in a taxi. She must have known instinctively that I'd take her in. I don't know how or why they released her. Probably due to overcrowding, and they had her scratch her name on a form then pushed her out the door. Or maybe she just slipped away when no one was looking (who'd notice in a place like that?)
she never did tell me and I didn't ask her. I was so happy to have her with me again that the last thing I wanted to do was break the spell by letting reality intrude. Ever since they'd dragged her away weeping with laughter and reaching out for me with our parents' blood still coating her hands with shiny red gloves, I'd felt amputated, like they'd pulled her kicking and screaming and insane out of my guts. — Michael Gira

I remember the day when my seventh-grade teacher called my parents to tell them I'd been crying in the bathrooms at lunchtime after Sukey died - how disappointed Dad was that I was using Sukey's death as an excuse to get attention from my teachers; how delicately Mom suggested that Sukey would have wanted me to be happy; my humiliation at letting them down. — Hilary T. Smith

Since the day she died, I've felt that Lucy was only mine to memorialize and that if I faltered, I'd be letting her down in the worst kind of way. The realization that she wasn't just mine comes as a painful relief. — Julie Murphy

You told me once," said Kell, "that you were either magic's master or its slave. So which are you now?"
The screaming died in Holland's head, smothered by the hollow quiet he'd trained to take its place.
"That's what you don't understand," said Holland, letting the emptiness fold over him. "I have only ever been its slave. — V.E Schwab

I have a memory of my mother kneeling in front of a cabinet in our home, tenderly cradling her wedding china. We never used the plates; she died in her 40s without ever letting herself enjoy these gorgeous pieces. I told myself that I would use my precious items. — Roma Downey

Remembering to live by forgetting all the places where I died. — Jenim Dibie

Did I mention my first sight of the African coast? Something struck in me, in my soul, Celie, like a large bell, and I just vibrated. Corrine and Samuel felt the same. And we kneeled down right on deck and gave thanks to God for letting us see the land for which our mothers and fathers cried
and lived and died
to see again. — Alice Walker

For a long time, sure, I was letting the pressure of being Rodney King get to me. It ain't easy. Even now, I walk into a place wondering, 'What people are thinking? Do they know who I am? What do they think about what happened? Do they blame me for the all those people who died?' — Rodney King

He lifted his gaze to the framed photograph of Tanya and him taken on their wedding day. God, she had been lovely. Her smile had come through her eyes straight from her heart. He had known unequivocally that she loved him. He believed to this day that she had died knowing that he loved her. How could she not know? He had dedicated his life to never letting her doubt it. — Sandra Brown

The heart of grief, its most difficult challenge, is not "letting go" of those who have died but instead making the transition from loving in presence to loving in separation. — Thomas Attig

Sorry about Bender," Lula said, letting the Trans Am idle at the curb. "Maybe we could tell Vinnie he died. We could say we were all set to bring Bender in, and he died. Bang. Dead as a doorknob."
"Better yet, why don't we just go back and kill him," I said. I opened the door to leave, caught my toe in the floor mat, and fell out of the car, face first. I rolled onto my back and stared up at the stars. "I'm fine," I said to Lula. "Maybe I'll sleep here tonight. — Janet Evanovich

In 1986 - the year before Peter Cardinal died - Gene Johnson had done an experiment that showed that Marburg and Ebola can indeed travel through the air. He infected monkeys with Marburg and Ebola by letting them breathe it into their lungs, and he discovered that a very small dose of airborne Marburg or Ebola could start an explosive infection in a monkey. — Richard Preston

Hobie's reassuring hand on my shoulder, a strong, comforting pressure, like an anchor letting me know that everything was okay. I hadn't felt a touch like that since my mother died - friendly, steadying in the midst of confusing events - and, like a stray dog hungry for affection, I felt some profound shift in allegiance, blood-deep, a sudden, humiliating, eyewatering conviction of this place is good, this person is safe, I can trust him, nobody will hurt me here. — Donna Tartt

When I called it quits, I stopped in the lobby to thank the concierge again for letting me use Mr. Kipling's beautiful desk. "I'm so glad you enjoyed it," he replied. He was wearing a misty, reminiscent little smile, as if he had known the writer himself. "Kipling died there, actually. Of a stroke. While he was writing. — Stephen King