grief
Losing a family member is one of the most traumatic life events; Families must support one another to endure the five stages of grief and get through it together.
Angels and Irises
A Poet Imprisoned In the 1934, my great-grandmother Colice was placed in a mental hospital in Ogdensburg, New York against her will. She wasn’t mentally ill, only in the way, and today we’d just call her pre-menopausal.
Nicholas McIntirePublished 3 years ago in FamiliesLala Bird
I no longer look forward to your calls or text messages and can listen to our old song. I can drive by your mom’s place and our house, and for the first time since I lost you, I was able to go to our spot without breaking down. You were right, the way the old pond looked when it’s frozen over with a cap of snow. It's a perfect winter picture. The sunlight, glistening off the ice onto the flakes of snow, reminds me of the way your blue eyes would glisten when you were happy. Like the day we found out that you were pregnant with our son, your eyes were filled with so much joy, excitement, and terror. Still to this day one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen.
ElRey NiffenPublished 3 years ago in FamiliesMy Brother Visited My Dream
This is a dream that I had roughly 7 years ago about my late brother. About a month before this dream, my brother had committed suicide. It was an extremely traumatic time in my life, and it was one of the hardest things I have ever gone through. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t function normally. Then, I had this dream.
Emily McDonaldPublished 3 years ago in FamiliesPuppy Fuzz
Dear Michael, Today would have been your 33rd birthday. I remember your last birthday, like so many of the birthdays before it, spent down by the pond, jumping off the big rock and splashing with the bullfrogs. If I close my eyes, I can make myself stand right there in the tall grass, watching all of us cousins play, with Dad, and all our aunts and uncles nearby, helping to set up for a casual family party by the water. I can hear the low hum of Grampa's lawnmower in the distance as he makes his way down the path through the woods towards us. No doubt his wagon is loaded with picnic food: watermelon, corn on the cob, coleslaw and potato salad and barbecue chicken. And jello mold, of course. I always love seeing him ride across the field towards us, with his bad leg dangling off the side of the mower, a crooked wise-ass smirk on his face and a corny joke on his lips. You and him were cut from the same cloth, you know. Both too smart for your own good. I remember the day you earned your ironic nickname. Do you remember trampling through Nana's strawberry bushes in hot pursuit of a rabbit? When she caught a glimpse of you, covered in smooshed berries and her garden torn apart, she said to me: "If there were a patron saint of getting up to no good, your brother would be it. Hey that's what we'll call him, Saint Michael the Troublemaker!".
Sharon BarrettPublished 3 years ago in FamiliesEulogy for Eden
When he left me, I was still calling his name. Deaf or indifferent, what did it matter to me? My brother was halfway up the hill, no sign of turning back to help. I tried again to free my scarf from the barbed wire fence, but the sharp jacks just tore through my gloves. Between the cool snowflakes sticking to my eyelashes and the hot tears welling up, the world was losing focus. With my face and shoulder strung above the ground and the rest of my five-year old body stretching out toward the icy pond, I could feel the hum of low voltage close to my ear. I stopped trying to push through and sank backwards to my boots. I broke free of the plaid noose stretching taut between the wire and my neck. Jesse would be walking in the front door about now; my parents would be asking him where in the world I was. I stood by the frozen pond, staring at the red threads hanging there between the breeze and the twisted wire.
How I Survived The Loss of My Father
One of the hardest heartbreaks I've ever had to deal with was the loss of a parent. Ava Sol via Unsplash When my father passed, I had just turned fourteen. Our last conversation between us was a month prier when he called me for my birthday. Sometimes I can't help but wonder how his death would have made me feel if my mom never convinced him to make that call.. even now, almost nine years later.
Dearly Beloved
The time finally ran out. All the life I had so carefully preserved and kept going disappeared within the vanishing body that kept her essence. My Mother’s passing this early August was expected but something I earnestly worked to avoid.
Diana HayesPublished 3 years ago in FamiliesCelebrating Lost Loved Ones
This is my son Chris, and as you can see, I just "celebrated" what would have been his 37th birthday. Why are we always mourning this day with lost loved ones? This is not a day to be mourned for me...it's a day to be CELEBRATED!!! Why you ask? Well...let me tell you why!
C. M. SearsPublished 3 years ago in FamiliesEmbracing Life
Come, my dear, sit down beside me and let me tell you a story. This is a story of a woman, a girl really. A mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend. The story of a girl who rose from the ashes of what she thought her life would be. She imagined a family with a loving husband, kids, a happy career. What she got was terror, addiction, and running for her life.
We Feel Small In The Presence Of Those We Love
Sons Perspective “Oh, you thought you had me huh!” my father taunts as he lifts himself out of the pool, “Your old man still got it kid but nice try.” I don’t know how but he’d just beat me in a race to the edge of the pool. The man was a lot quicker than I had thought.
Jayden Sweeten 👑Published 3 years ago in Families- Top Story - August 2021
A Letter To A Lost Loved One.
"You will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly-- that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp" Anne Lamott
Amanda RussoPublished 3 years ago in Families The Morrison's
My name is Richard Morrison and I was born on Sunday, August 5, 1934 to my proud parents Arnold and Martha Morrison in Paterson, New Jersey. Being my parents’ only child afforded me many opportunities to learn different things in life. Since I enjoyed working with my hands, I took to making many different things out of wood and working on cars. I would tinker with just about anything I could find. In fact, that is how I met the love of my life.
Royce HollandPublished 3 years ago in Families