A Quote by Luke Campbell

It's a different kind of grief when you lose a parent. — © Luke Campbell
It's a different kind of grief when you lose a parent.
I think that what happens when you lose a parent, where you lose - you drop into a different kind of serious.
I'm at a strange place I suppose in my life. I think that what happens when you lose a parent, where you lose-you drop into a different kind of serious.
If you lose a parent, no matter at what age, every five or 10 years you have a different way of missing them and a different way of getting on with your life.
To be a different kind of parent, you don't just need a different parenting philosophy. You need a very different view of what a child actually is.
As a parent, it's my responsibility to equip my child to do this - to grieve when grief is necessary and to realize that life is still profoundly beautiful and worth living despite the fact that we inevitably lose one another and that life ends, and we don't know what happens after death.
There is a level of grief so deep that it stops resembling grief at all. The pain becomes so severe that the body can no longer feel it. The grief cauterizes itself, scars over, prevents inflated feeling. Such numbness is a kind of mercy.
When my dad was in Vietnam, we lost a parent for a year. Thank God we didn't lose a parent for good.
I don't think America knows what a gay parent looks like. I am the gay parent. America has watched me parent my children on TV for six years. They know what kind of parent I am.
Grief causes you to leave yourself. You step outside your narrow little pelt. And you can’t feel grief unless you’ve had love before it - grief is the final outcome of love, because it’s love lost. […] It’s the cycle of love completed: to love, to lose, to feel grief, to leave, and then to love again. Grief is the awareness that you will have to be alone, and there is nothing beyond that because being alone is the ultimate final destiny of each individual living creature. That’s what death is, the great loneliness.
I have an eight-year-old child, and I literally can't wrap my mind around the kind of grief that must be felt when you lose a child.
To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.
There are no words to describe the pain of burying a child, and specifically there is no word to label their new, lifelong status. If you lose a spouse, you are a widow; if you lose a parent, you are an orphan. But what about when you lose a child? How do you name something you cannot comprehend?
To lose one parent is a tragedy, to lose both is utter carelessness.
I'm part of the tribe who have said goodbye to one parent and are feeling a sense of responsibility for the one who remains - in my case, my mother. How do I make her time smoother, happier? How do I try to ease her, a widow, away from the dark well of grief without dishonoring the necessity of that grief?
The truth of the matter is, you lose a parent to murder when you're 10 years old, and in fact at the time of the murder you hate your lost parent, my mother in my case.
I think the worst kind of grief is unacknowledged grief.
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