Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Families.

A Different Kind of Life
My feet drag across the ground as though my shoes are made of cement rather than the soaked fabric that clings to my feet. My chest feels just as heavy as I make my way through the thick mud that covers the ground. Slowly, stumbling from my heavy shoes and my weak knees. Rain falls in sheets. It soaked me the moment I stepped out of the house and I'm grateful for it. Sunshine on a day like today would be insult to injury.
By Kendra Payton6 years ago in Families
Cries of the Barn Owl
Yesterday was my tenth birthday. Normally, I would have woken up to my two older brothers, Seth & Jason, singing their embarrassing birthday version of “Lovely Rita” except they change the lyric “Lovely Rita, Meter Maid” to “Lovely Leda, Birthday Girl”. Then, my dad would make his “special birthday pancakes” which really just means they have sprinkles. And that night, we would all go to dinner at my favorite restaurant, “Rocco’s Waterfront”. But, none of that happened this year. Instead, here we all are dressed in black, staring at my father’s cherrywood casket. “Cherrywood is a classic”, that’s what the man at the funeral home told us. “It’s a bit richer than the mahogany, but you really can’t go wrong with any of the darker woods.” He made it sound as if we were picking out new cabinets for the kitchen.
By Laura Brooker Manning6 years ago in Families
Windows To The Soul
It's Friday morning, and I'm taking Alder street to my annual check-up. It doesn't seem that exciting, but routine is what gets me out of bed these days. It would please you to know that the old Suburban is keeping up with the times, though. So, that's something I'll add to my list of things to be grateful for. You always told me that's what I should be; more positive. Doesn't seem like it's saved me any grief throughout the years; it just makes me miss you more. I guess it is what it was then, a lot easier said than done.
By Heidi Mae6 years ago in Families
Footprints in the Snow
It's cold tonight, and quiet. Nothing but the ticking of the clock on the wall. The old familiar melody of time. Monotonous in it's arrangement, yet a tune I've come to know well. It snowed about two inches today. On top of the snow we had earlier this week, it will be quite the feat if Jennie gets here tomorrow. It's been a long winter...or has it? I suppose here's where I intereject that for the last two years I've had, what my family has insisted, is the onset of Alzheimers. If it weren't for my journaling I'd be reliant on others telling me what's going on. And even still, I find myself starting a new page, in the middle of a thought, when it's as if the ink has left my pen. It takes me a while to remember to even return to the previous page to collect my story. But right now, I'm having a moment of clarity. I feel somewhat my old self tonight. It's a shame I have no one to share it with but this old dusty journal.
By Leah Nicole Yoder6 years ago in Families
Finally, Whole.
Being raised by only one parent and an abusive stepparent is rough. Trust me, I know. That is why I will never forget the time my heart finally became whole and not filled with a bunch of questions. It became time to meet the one person I had always questioned. My father left when I was little for another woman. I had never heard from him again until May of last year.
By Mikayla Wright6 years ago in Families
Breath of an Owl
A silver-haired barn owl makes its soundless descent, like breath smoke in the solemn night. Its eyes fixed ahead, taking in the sounds of the creatures below. But tonight there are no rabbits hiding in the snow.
By Charlie Reine6 years ago in Families
Winter's Warming Walk
It was a minus 16 degrees Celsius morning in the Rocky Mountains of Canada. I was perched snugly between the branches of three pine trees with my eyes closed.
By Kevin Shan6 years ago in Families
2:22 AM
I had lived with my grandma and grandpa for years, and everyday, everything was always the same. Until one night, it wasn't. Sounds dramatic, I know, but think about it- when you are a kid with no siblings, living in the middle of no where, it all becomes drastic when things go left.
By JayMarie6 years ago in Families
Whooo Am I?
Somewhere in the middle of a forest in a land far away there is an owl named Millie searching for some pretty deep answers about herself.
By Camille Cortina6 years ago in Families
Wall of Death
Growing up in a funeral home, there was a sense of death that lingered and lurked around every corner. There was the “death phone” that rang in the middle of night to alert my father that someone had just died, the “death smell” of my dad’s hands after an embalming, the scent of grief and cigarette smoke wafting through the house during a visitation, the grave marker station in the basement, the selection room full of caskets, and last but not least, there was the “Wall of Death.”
By Lou Davis6 years ago in Families
The Visit
It had been a year, almost to the day. Sadie didn’t think her heart could break anymore than it already had. Of course it was raining today. Sadie could remember the incessant rain a year ago, as if the sky itself was weeping for her dad. She remembered the puddles at the gravesite, and everyone trying to stay dry under the small white tent while the pastor spoke a few words before the burial. But most of the events of that week were a blur: getting the call in New York that his heart had failed and he had died during what was supposed to be a “minor” surgery, flying home to Cincinnati, the funeral, the speech she gave (what the heck did she even say?), the sea of faces of friends, family, and strangers as they hugged her. She definitely remembered the rain, however. For 5 days in a row, it had rained nonstop. It had rained during the visitation, the funeral, the burial, and the meals with family that followed. It rained heavy. Everything was wet. The earth was mourning the loss of the greatest man Sadie had ever known.
By Chelsea Spack6 years ago in Families
Forever With Me
I didn't know how to continue when I lost her. The woman who gave me life was nearing the end of hers. The woman who would patch up my many scraped arms during my active youth could barely lift her own. The woman who read through my many school papers due within the next hour could no longer form a coherent sentence.
By Ghezal Amiri6 years ago in Families