grandparents
Becoming a grandparent makes getting older something to look forward to - all the fun of parenting, without the hassle.
The first anniversary of the loss of my mom
December 2nd, 2025, marks the official first anniversary of my mother's passing. It has been A bit of a rough journey. Still, I was able to get by with my husband's and my daughter's help. Still, mostly I was helped by the grace of God. I'm happy to say my mom is there with him, as well as with my dad, my father passed away in 2017 of heart failure.
By stephanie borges10 months ago in Families
7 Stages of Dementia Before Death: What Families Need to Know
By the time we hear the phrase “7 stages of dementia before death”, many of us are already exhausted, scared, and confused. Dementia doesn’t arrive in one day. It creeps in quietly, then slowly changes the person we love and the life we know.
By Rachel Randall10 months ago in Families
A Multitude of Blessings
Today was Thanksgiving here in the United States. I am nestled in tonight in a warm home with heat, two adorable children who got to spend the day with their Mommy, and my boyfriend. I have had a lot of things lately that I am not exactly thankful for, but I wanted to take a moment to count my blessings.
By Adora Hooper10 months ago in Families
Making Thanksgiving Inclusive for Loved Ones With Communication and Swallowing Challenges. AI-Generated.
Thanksgiving brings families together. But for those with neurological conditions like stroke, Parkinson's disease, aphasia, dysphagia, or traumatic brain injury, the holiday can bring unique challenges alongside its joys.
By Nina Minervini10 months ago in Families
Nick Cannon's Daughter Wasn't Throwing Shade
Monroe "Roe" Cannon, daughter of Nick Cannon and pop singer/ "Queen of Christmas music" Mariah Carey posted on Instagram addressing about her siblings from her father. The 14-year-old took to Instagram sharing on her story about claiming her twin sibling as her only sibling and as the rest of her younger half siblings as half’s.
By Gladys W. Muturi11 months ago in Families
Summers in Her Hands
Some people carry seasons inside them. My grandmother carried summer. Not the loud summer of crowded beaches and restless highways, but the soft kind—the one that tastes like ripe fruit, smells of drying laundry in the sun, and sounds like the quiet hum of someone you trust moving around the house. When I was small, I used to believe my grandmother’s hands controlled the weather. They were always warm, always open, always ready to knead dough, bandage a scrape, or smooth the fear out of a trembling shoulder. Those hands held stories older than our family name. And every summer, when the air grew thick and slow, she used them to teach me how to live. She never taught with instructions. She taught with rhythm. The rhythm of slicing fruit for jam. The rhythm of folding sheets as though the act itself were a prayer. The rhythm of storytelling at dusk, when shadows grew long and memory softened into myth. She taught me that summer was never a season, but a feeling—one you could carry even in winter if you tried hard enough. What I didn’t understand then was how much work it takes to hold warmth. To be the person others return to. To be the one who softens a room simply by entering it. My grandmother was not gentle by accident. Her softness was earned, shaped by grief, stitched by choices. She had known loss. She had outlived people she once believed she could not live without. When she spoke about them, her voice was steady, but her thumb rubbed the edge of her palm as though tracing their outlines in memory. “The sun doesn’t warm you less after it sets,” she once said, eyes fixed on the horizon. “You just have to learn to carry the heat.” At the time, I didn’t understand. I thought grief was a winter: cold, sharp, endless. I didn’t yet know that some griefs warm you—because they remind you of the love that came before them. Every summer with her felt endless. The days stretched like bright threads waiting to be woven into something lasting. We walked barefoot through the garden. We picked berries until our palms were stained red. She taught me how to find shade, how to listen to wind, how to read the sky. But her favorite lesson was this: “Hold things lightly,” she said once, placing a ripe peach in my hands. “Grip them too hard and they bruise.” I thought she was talking about fruit. Later, I realized she was talking about people. She held everyone lightly—never with possession, always with care. Her touch never demanded; it invited. Her warmth never insisted; it offered. When I grew older, I understood how rare that is. The last summer I had with her came too quickly, and yet it felt slower than any before it. Her hands were still warm, but the warmth flickered. Her steps were smaller, her breaths softer. She still told stories, but sometimes they wandered off into memories I didn’t recognize. One afternoon, as sunlight spilled across her bed, she reached for my hand. “You have my summer,” she whispered. I wanted to ask what she meant. But something in her tone told me that answers were no longer her job to give. Some lessons you carry forward by living them. She passed in early autumn, when the air was sharpening and the trees were beginning to release what they no longer needed. The world seemed off balance, as though the sun had dimmed a little. But slowly, quietly, her warmth settled inside me. I found her in small things— in the smell of warm laundry, in the taste of peaches, in the late-afternoon hush where shadows soften. I found her in the way I touched others. In the way I listened. In the way I tried, without always succeeding, to hold things lightly. It took years to realize what she had given me: not recipes, not stories, not skills— but a way of being. She taught me that warmth is a choice. That gentleness is a strength. That love is not proven by holding tightly, but by offering freely. Most importantly, she taught me that the people who feel like summer live inside you long after they’re gone. Their warmth doesn’t fade. It becomes yours. And now, when the world feels cold or grief comes back with its winter teeth, I close my eyes and picture her hands—steady, warm, sunlit—and I remember that summer was never outside me. It was always in her hands, and now it is in mine.
By LUNA EDITH11 months ago in Families
When Freedom Learns Responsibility: A Father’s Journey from Single Life to Sacred Duty.
When Freedom Learns Responsibility: A Father’s Journey from Single Life to Sacred Duty The single life often feels like an open road with no traffic lights. You choose your destination, your speed, and even when to stop and start. Your time is yours, your money is yours, and your thoughts belong entirely to you. You can change your plans in an instant, sleep whenever you like, and travel whenever you wish, without anyone asking why you are late or where you are going. It feels like freedom in its purest form. But is freedom simply the ability to do whatever you want, or is it understanding what truly matters?
By Sayed Zewayed11 months ago in Families
The Story of Scattered Words
God has given the mother great concern, which is why Bano Qudsia has written that if a mother has eight sons and seven are admitted to heaven and one to hell, the mother will remain restless even in heaven and will wish that the eighth son be sent to the one who is in hell. A mother never worries about herself, she always worries about her children.
By shahkar jalal11 months ago in Families
Your nipples are as unique as your fingerprints. AI-Generated.
Your Nipples Are as Unique as Your Fingerprints Did you ever stop to think that something as small as your nipples could tell a story all their own? Most folks see them as just another body part, all the same. But here's the truth: your nipples stand out like no one else's. They vary in shape, size, color, and feel, much like the ridges on your fingertips that no two people share.
By Story silver book 11 months ago in Families
Home Swimming Pool Safety Tips for Parents. AI-Generated.
The weather will become warmer as it will soon be summer. This means your child would like to spend more time playing in the pool. However, as a parent, it is your responsibility to keep the pool safe for your children besides just keeping it an exciting and fun zone. The CDC reports that drowning is a recognizable cause of accidental deaths in children. In fact, drowning is the leading cause of accidental injury death in young children ages 1-4.
By Kristina Leatherman11 months ago in Families
