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.
The Cost of Comfort: How Overprotection Broke a Generation
We are watching an entire generation crumble under the weight of emotional fragility, identity confusion, and quiet despair. We call it a "mental health crisis," but that phrase feels far too clean. The truth is harder: the problem isn’t that kids were born weaker, but that they were taught to fear the very things that make them strong.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcastabout a year ago in Families
Why People Are Addicted to Coloring Pages or Coloring Books:
Coloring is no longer just for kids. Grown-ups all over the globe are picking up coloured pencils, markers, and gel pens, spending hours colouring in intricate mandalas, cozy scenes, or mythical animals. Bookstores have entire sections of adult colouring books, and they flood social media with gorgeously finished pages. But why are colouring activities so addictive?
By Shenal Jayabout a year ago in Families
Empty Cradle
The nursery was ready months before we even knew if we would need it. Soft yellow paint warmed the walls, a rocking chair stood proudly in the corner, and a white wooden cradle sat in the center, waiting. Waiting for the cries of a new life, the coos, the laughter, the endless lullabies. But the cradle stayed empty. When we first found out we were expecting, it felt like every dream we ever whispered into the night was finally coming true. I imagined holding a tiny hand in mine, staying up through sleepless nights, and watching first steps wobble across our living room. Every baby store visit felt like a promise of tomorrow. I would place my hand over my belly and picture a future I could almost touch. Then came the silence. The day the doctor whispered, "I’m sorry," everything inside me cracked. The sound of the monitor without a heartbeat still haunts me. One second, I was clinging to hope, and the next, it was gone. I walked out of the clinic carrying nothing but a hollow ache that no words could soothe. At first, I avoided the nursery. I would shut the door and pretend the room did not exist. I could not bring myself to see the mobile we had hung above the cradle or the tiny clothes neatly folded in drawers. But the cradle called to me in the quiet hours, reminding me of the love I had already poured into a life that never got to begin. Some nights, I would sit in the rocking chair, clutching the blanket we bought, rocking back and forth as though motion alone could carry me away from the pain. Grief is not a straight path. It twists and circles back when you least expect it. Some days I was angry at the universe. Other days I was numb, walking through life on autopilot. People around me did not know what to say. Some offered empty phrases like, "It wasn’t meant to be," or "You’ll try again." They did not realize that I was not grieving a possibility. I was grieving a child. My child. Friends stopped checking in after a while, assuming time had healed me. But grief has no expiration date. It lingers in the corners of your home and in the pauses between conversations. It visits when you least expect it, like when you hear a baby cry in a grocery store or see a parent pushing a stroller down the street. The empty cradle became both a wound and a sanctuary. It reminded me of what I lost, but it also reminded me of the depth of my love. I began to see that grief is proof that something mattered, that someone mattered, even if their presence was too brief for this world. Months later, I found myself dusting the cradle, not with tears this time, but with a strange tenderness. I whispered stories to the silence, sharing the dreams I had for the little one who never got to hear them. The nursery was no longer a place of sorrow alone. It became a place where love lingered, where memory could breathe. I started writing letters addressed to the child I never got to meet. In those letters, I shared my fears, my joys, and the things I wanted to teach them. It became my way of keeping their presence alive in my heart. Slowly, I learned that healing does not mean forgetting. It means carrying love forward in a different form. One evening, I invited my partner into the nursery after months of shutting him out. We sat together by the cradle, holding hands in the quiet. For the first time, we spoke openly about our grief. His tears fell onto the blanket, mixing with mine. It was then I realized I was not alone in this journey. The loss was ours to carry together. Over time, the pain softened, though it never disappeared. I came to understand that the cradle would always be empty, but that did not mean it was meaningless. It symbolized a love so strong that even absence could not erase it. Healing, I discovered, was not about moving on. It was about moving forward while carrying the memory with me. Some wounds do not close completely, and maybe they are not supposed to. They remind us of our capacity to love deeply, even in loss. Today, when I look at the cradle, I no longer see only what is missing. I see love. I see hope. I see a reminder that even the smallest life, no matter how fleeting, can leave an everlasting mark on the heart. The empty cradle taught me that sometimes the most powerful stories are the ones without the ending we imagined. And while my arms may be empty, my heart will always be full of a love that will never fade.
By LUNA EDITHabout a year ago in Families
Disappeared Newborns in Former Yugoslavia: ECtHR Rulings, Serbia’s Reforms, and Croatia’s Obligations
Between the 1960s and 1990s, thousands of parents in Serbia and Croatia were told their newborns had died, often without proof. The ECtHR ruled in Zorica Jovanović v. Serbia (2013) and Petrović v. Croatia (2025) that states violated family rights. Allegations include falsified identities, missing records, and illicit payments. Serbia has enacted reforms; Croatia must follow suit.
By Scott Douglas Jacobsenabout a year ago in Families
The House That Forgot Its Walls
Childhood: A Shelter of Love The old wooden house stood at the edge of a quiet street in a small town. Its walls were cracked its paint was fading and its windows were clouded with dust but for Mason and Olivia it was never just a building—it was the home where they raised their children.
By Article Writing Masterabout a year ago in Families
Five Things John Wick Taught Me About Dealing with Grief. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
I never batted two eyes when John Wick first came out. I figured it was a James Patterson novel turned into a movie — some James-Bond-esque thriller ending in Michael Bay explosions and a make-out scene with the hot blonde of the moment.
By DASL Writerabout a year ago in Families
Why Is My Grandmother Not Here and How Do I Get Her Back?
I always thought the denial stage of grief must be the quickest. Surely it would only be the moments right after the death when you don’t believe what you’re told. The moment where the world shifts and you try to cling to the way things were before. I never imagined it would last longer than five minutes after the person is made aware of the loss.
By Samantha Smithabout a year ago in Families
Failed relationships
Every love story begins like the first breath of spring. Two people meet, and suddenly the world feels softer, brighter, more forgiving. Hearts race, voices linger, and every glance carries the promise of forever. Psychologists call this early stage the honeymoon phase—a time when passion and intimacy surge, fueled by dopamine and the thrill of discovery. At this stage, partners often believe their love is invincible.
By Life Hopesabout a year ago in Families
