Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Families.
Norway's Breast Feeding Mafia
At the end of July 2019 my wife and I welcomed our son into the world. Apart from the obvious – and I am assuming typical worry and anxiety – it was a “trouble free” and profound experience. The jordmors or in English, the midwives, were amazing. The nurses too, impressive, dedicated, and kind. The women who assisted in the birth of our son, I shall never forget. The majority of caregivers who helped us adjust during the week we spent in the birth ward, they too have left a mark on my life.
By Robert Allen6 years ago in Families
Apostle
She stood on the weathered deck of this house she once loved, where she felt loved, imagining herself younger, wilder. Dancing through the bull dust, down over swatches of grass. The sting on her skin from rolling into the bindi bur that filled in more land than lawn. Lazy days on this deck, giggling at the Apostle birds chatter and play. Images and sounds, the smells, all shifting in the hot winds, contorting into unreliable memories.
By TerriLee Robinson6 years ago in Families
Magnolia
"How are you doing, Magnolia, dear?" My attention snaps to the small woman before me, the haze clearing from my vision as I take in her worried expression; deep creases lining her eyes as she squints at me through smudged glasses. It's no doubt obvious to everyone but her that the lenses are no longer suited to her failing vision, but I won't be the one to say so.
By Alex Brier6 years ago in Families
Godspeed
“You have to —” Jack stopped mid-sentence to lick his cracked lips. He tasted a bit of dry blood and cursed, “You have to honor a woman’s dying wish.” He finally slurred out and stumbled over a pile of rocks. “I didn’t want the boy. I mean, he ain’t a bad kid. He’s just bad for me.” He sat on the ground, stirring a pile of dust.
By [email protected]6 years ago in Families
Learning to Be Better
From a very young age I watched my father, as well as my grandfathers and uncles, do things that typically fall upon the man's shoulders. My dad was a jack of all trades. He loved taking things apart and putting them back together. He could also work with everything from a car's engine to a computers modem and everything in between. 2 of my 3 grandfather's had garages filled with tools and machines to take on just about any task you could think of that could pop up around the house. I grew up in a family where calling someone to fix a problem for you was unheard of because either my dad could fix it, or someone else we were related to could.
By Samuel Steele6 years ago in Families
Love, Loss and everything in between
If you have children in your life you know there are those moments of pure amazement and wonder. This little person might have come to you as a result of planning and conceiving, through adoption, fostering, in your role as Auntie or Uncle, or even as a teacher or coach. And it doesn't really matter what your connection is to that life, because regardless of how that bond was fostered, you have shared something special, a spark that binds you to them.
By sarah rosellini6 years ago in Families
The Revealing
Henry Casille was walking down the street on his way to the park as was common for any pleasant spring morning in the quaint little community he lived in. It was important for him to get his exercise or at least that's what he was told at his last wellness checkup. As his phone vibrated, he reached into his pocket to examine it, all without stopping, to see that the message was from his wife, Mara. They had just celebrated their golden anniversary and were honored with a surprise party by their children and grandchildren. Henry smiled as he returned his phone to his pocket. Such a simple endearing text was typical of her, and it was consistent with the loving and loyal aspects of her character that he had enjoyed for all these years.
By Vince Coliam6 years ago in Families
Rescuing the Crospey
“And what are you going to do with all this money, once it’s in your account?” Mia looked up expectantly. The money had been a surprise. My uncle Francesco, a school administrator in Haymill, had left me $20,000 in his will. I remembered, of course, having looked after his property after a fire had gutted his barn and partially damaged the farmhouse ten years ago after Aunt Maria had died. I came to love that farmhouse and the scraggly land with its dried riverbed. It had an unemphatic beauty, spare and unadorned flat ground, with willow oaks at the western perimeter and sweetgum and tulip poplars on the eastern. In the two months I had become close to Uncle Fran. Since then I had visited him at least once a year, the last two times with Mia, as our engagement ripened; I never expected to be in his will.
By Roger Lathbury6 years ago in Families
