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.
Remembering Again. Top Story - July 2022.
It has taken ten years for Poppop to remember my name again. We are sitting at a table outside under string lights and stars. He is wearing a blue sweater vest and his head is still bald. I cry as he marvels at my tattoos. He tells me he would like to get some. How outlandish! How hip! He doesn't ask me why I’m crying, and I don’t register the tears until I wake up.
By Sone Kramer4 years ago in Families
pain & loss
On January 15th 2019, I got the call know one wants to hear it was my godfather. He was calling to let me know that my dad, his best friend had passed away. I had a strained relationship with my dad, he had cheated on my mom since I was 7 and although mom knew this, dad didn't leave until I was 16. It wasn't until I was 22 when my parents divorced and it was then my dad removed himself from my life. I never understood why he'd done what he'd done but I never gave up hope he'd pop back up. I'd gotten married and he didn't show, I had children who never knew their grandpa. I tried my best over the years to never speak negatively about him, I didn't know if I would ever see him again so I didn't want to tarnish that relationship any possible relationship my kids could have with him.
By Donna Evenson4 years ago in Families
To My Soul Twin
Dear Ashley, I don't know why you went to work on Tuesday. You told me that you were sick and were trying to get you and Tessa into the doctor. I have no idea why you changed your mind and went to work - probably because you're stubborn, just like the rest of us who are descended from Mamaw and Papaw Meeks.
By Jessie McDonald4 years ago in Families
How We Saved Her Life
Time passes slowly before only four visitors are left in a single windowed room. Arms wrap around a small child. Protecting her. Reminding her nothing will come between them. The small child knows what they all are waiting for: a teenager, who was taken from her family, but given a second chance at life, to walk across that hallway at any moment with her hands concealed behind her back.
By Shelby Lehman4 years ago in Families
Tales of Dad
My dad was the best, most people say that about their dad, but it was true for mine. My dad passed away on March 26th, 2022. I was with my mom and grandma going to a plant nursery. On our way there, I saw a red-tailed hawk, I swear it winked at me, and then it felt like all of my insides had been taken away. I was hollow, there was nothing inside of me anymore. I was empty.
By Dusti West4 years ago in Families
A Heart Full of Lightning Bugs
I stood near the dark wooden casket, waiting for the viewing to start. Staring down at dad, dressed in the dark three-piece suit he hated, he looked as empty and lifeless as I felt. As empty and lifeless as this depressing room, with its faded wallpaper and its cloying smell of flowers and chemicals. Dad had been so full of life, then struck down so swiftly by the heart attack. A widow maker they called it, but mom had passed last year. Perhaps they should call it an orphan maker, since now there was an empty void where my parents had once stood. A void as empty as my heart. I had not wept when mom died after her long lingering illness, perhaps since she had already been gone for so long, her eyes empty for years. But dad was taken so quickly that I only felt shock; surely the tears will come later, when it all truly sinks in.
By Randy Dannenfelser4 years ago in Families
Loving the Grieving Heart
To me, my father was my hero. He moved mountains figuratively speaking and did everything in his power to make sure his kids had everything that was needed. He never over did it with spoiling us. He always took his time with my siblings and I. He was and still is a very big family man. Nothing got between him and his kids or his wife. All that said, we never had a perfect family, or father, but I'm very happy that I never had a perfect father. He taught me everything he knows; from simple tricks for homework throughout my years in school to learning how to drive and fix my own car. He even taught me everything about the birds and the bees. I wanted to be everything my father was as I grew up and tried to make myself be all that and more.
By Kylie Kopf4 years ago in Families
Dad
I sit next to the bed and hold his hand. The clock cheerily keeping count of the minutes for me. I wonder how many people before me have held hands with their loved ones in this very room? It’s cold and clinical and as much as this space is supposed to feel like a home, it is just make-believe. I wish I could go back in time and be that fairy princess who rode dragons bareback to save the world. Were the people before me as scared as I am? Did their minds scream to run as far as they could? To the past or future, it doesn’t really matter. Anywhere but here. But I am here. Stuck in a moment that will forever live in my heart.
By Lisa Gledhill4 years ago in Families
Lessons From Beyond a Father's Grave
In the aftermath of your death, they ask me do you miss him? I smile something brittle knowing it doesn’t reach my eyes, deflect with well-practiced responses that do everything to acknowledge but nothing to answer the question.
By Tonya Johnson4 years ago in Families
My Father's Fingernails
I believed that I had to die in order to stop suffering from the death of my father. I remember telling my future wife sometime after we had met that I wanted to die before my parents, refusing to suffer their loss. I probably only meant that for my father: the man who held my hand at less than three years of age when we disembarked from the boat that brought us to our new home, the man who always tasted the melon first before sharing it with his three remaining children and his wife, the man who let me enjoy the touch of his calloused hands and yellowing fingernails, the man who secretly ate the tasty homemade pastries and fresh seasonal fruits and blamed it on me when reproached by his domineering wife, the man who worked for the army and returned home early to take care of me, the man who knew how to cook a mean spaghetti, the man who taught me by example to seek peace and quiet, the man I painfully loved even when he became difficult to deal with following his drawn-out struggle with Alzheimer’s disease, the man whose smile could light up any room including his private one in the nursing home, the man I lost at the tender age of 89. Is this all I could remember of the forty years of having a father? No! It is only a simple synopsis of all those years, a broad overview of four decades, a would-be writer’s whimper.
By Patrick M. Ohana4 years ago in Families
