Roberta

“Am I a mother, Father? What name do you give to a woman with a dead child? I’m not a widow, not an orphan, what am I?
Better you don’t give me name Father, if you and your church ever find a name for me - you’ll probably just take away my right to decide how I behave or how I live my life, or how I die. Better not.”
― Claudia Piñeiro, Elena Knows

“Her breathing was so anxious through the end, her anxiety the last to leave the body. But shortly thereafter, when her partner had gone to tell the nurses it was over, I felt her streak past, right by me. Finally you're free of all this, I thought.”
― Ia Genberg, The Details

“The performance of certainty seemed to be at the root of so much grief. Everyone in America seemed to be afraid and hurting and angry, starving for a fight they could win. And more than that even, they seemed certain their natural state was to be happy, contented, and rich. The genesis of everyone’s pain had to be external, such was their certainty. And so legislators legislated, building border walls, barring citizens of there from entering here. “The pain we feel comes from them, not ourselves,” said the banners, and people cheered, certain of all the certainty. But the next day they’d wake up and find that what had hurt in them still hurt.”
― Kaveh Akbar, Martyr!

“To mourn the death of a friend is to feel as if you are walking around with a vase, knowing you have to set it down but nowhere is obvious. Others will assure you that there’s no right way to do this. Put it anywhere. But you know better. You know that if you put your grief in a place that’s too prominent or too hidden, you will take it back when no one’s looking. This is why I spend my nights looking into the restaurant. I fantasize about keeping Russell in front of me for a little longer, asking him questions, knowing nothing either of us says will change the outcome. Each time the restaurant closes. Each time he drops me off at my door. Each time he walks off into the dark. And then he’s gone. And I am still holding this vase.”
― Sloane Crosley, Grief Is for People