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.
March 19, 1982
March 19th, 1982. The day the world stood still. At least, for my 7 year old brain, anyway. It was a sunny Friday afternoon and my friend was coming to my house after school, after homework. I walked home from school the usual way, cutting through the neighbor's yard behind us. Back then, most people in our town hadn't added fences to their yards yet. Daddy was waiting on the front lawn as he always was. Daddy worked two jobs and would come home for his lunch at the same time us kids got home from school just so he could see us every day. He loved his children beyond words and we always knew it. I gave him the usual big hug and we went inside.
By Jena Tilton Pinkham6 years ago in Families
A Tribute to Angus Michael Tett
I woke up groggy the morning of Angus’ death. My eyes still had sand around the edges and my hair was jutting in one hundred different directions. I didn’t wake up by choice. I rolled over to my bedside table where my mom’s face had popped up on the phone screen. The time said 7:28 in the background. It was the only thing I could see in the pitch black. The violent buzzing from the call was a brutal sound for my headache. The sass in my head is a ruthless being, “What do you want?” I say in my best teenage attitude. My mind flipped through the past week thinking about every scenario that I could have possibly warranted a lecture at 7:28 in the morning. In the moments right after I answered, I damned myself as the most self-centered person in the world.
By Alexandra Tett6 years ago in Families
UNOFFICIALLY DEAD
It’s his birthday today, you know. We should be out there somewhere celebrating, but instead, I look down at his body and say, “Happy birthday Grandpa.” His eyes are cold and dark but I still see a flicker in them, his soul still dwells there. The wires protruding from his body under the pale light of the hospital room K21, a nightmarish vision. The relentless beep of the heart monitor makes me feel weak yet it is somehow comforting. I look at his pale, cold being and the sounds of the lively hospital begin to distort into a single monotonous ringing in my ear and my mind drifts to the thought: “Is this the end?”
By Jonathan Visagie6 years ago in Families
The Impression of Light
Penny leaned on the doorframe, assessing the room. Lira had a way of bringing the forest green walls of her room to life, like flowers blooming for the sun. Since she’d been gone, the walls sulked in their intended darkness. That was Penny’s favourite thing about her sister. Lira had this power; she could revive anything with a smile or find that which lingered in the dark and coax it back to the light again. It was as if Lira sucked up all the darkness so that light could exist. Penny had a different kind of power, one that relied mostly mostly on disrupting natural order. She was the darkness and Lira seemed to be the only anchor in her storm of chaos.
By Jessica Harvey6 years ago in Families
The Light Between Oceans
There are moments when the weight of grief, the memory of losing a beloved one sits forcibly upon your heart. A gnawing in the pit of your belly begins to grow, a tangible reminder to the reality of your loss. I carry with me the reality of that which is the mourning of my Father from this earth. Yesterday I saw his name on an advertisement across the street and again upon the lips of a barista to whom I asked the name of. I wondered if he could see the tightening of my chest as he said the name of my father, did he glimpse on my face the reality of what was going on beneath? I still have his number saved in my favourite's phone list which I can't bear to remove just yet. I can still rattle off his number by heart. On some days I seem to remember that more than his voice and that frightens me. My tears taste bitter but somehow sweet as I write this, hot and sticky as they stream down my face. The pain in moments seems so unbearable, suffocating and almost without end. Almost. A dear friend wrote to me a tender and kind reminder on paper- "you are never, ever, without family by your side" and an accompanying teapot as a gift that renewed my heart with hope. The world would have you forget, to move on and there are days I find myself so engaged with the hurriedness of life, that I seemingly do. The days drift carelessly and at times almost cruelly by and with it, the familiarity of his face grows dimmer. How could I possibly ever forget, but I have learnt and learning still, how not to succumb to the heavy laden burden of grief. Allowing myself to submerge in the waves when they come, and they will come, but never remaining nor making a home beneath. The air above and the world becomes sweeter when you emerge from the murky depths below. Echoing C. S. Lewis when he wrote about all the agony we go through on this earth will one day be transformed into future glory. I take a breath. And then another. My tears mingle with the salty sea, we seem to share a secret language of aquamarine. I allow myself to be and to become. Surrendering to all that makes this heart of mine softer, stronger. Malleable in the hands of my maker. Light breaks in. The hope of dawn arises, heralding a new day. Not just beyond the horizon, but here, right now. For all to see and be welcomed into.
By Rachela Grace Nardella6 years ago in Families
How To Explain Grief, Loss, and Death To A Child
How do you explain death, loss and grief to children? Many well-meaning adults assume that children do not grieve. They are wrong. Childhood grief is different from the grief experienced by adults, but it very real to them.
By Judy Helm Wright6 years ago in Families
Awakening Through My Father's Death
The week before my father’s death I had some pretty intense stuff happening around me. Specifically, on the portal night of 2.2.2020; I was visited by my guides. I had a listless night of sleep, having extreme dreams, including a lucid dream. I had been tossing and turning, stuck in that twilight sleep already, and time felt like it was moving in a spiral rather than a straight line. Before I knew it, I was in a lucid dream, sleep paralysis and all. Next to my bed stood a very tall, thin, white (almost translucent) torso; I began to panic. Something within me told me to relax. This isn’t malicious; it’s actually one of my guides, and I instantly fell back asleep. While asleep, I dreamt that I was at work but dressed for a funeral. I was running around because I was throwing an event (possibly the funeral), and I then met up with my close friend and his brother. The way I was comforting my friend, I thought the funeral was for his father. I don’t remember anything else from the dream, but I woke again, and I thought my boyfriend was getting into bed. He told me, “You have to move,” because I was on his side of bed; I apologized and rolled over. Some more time passes, and I wake again, rolling over to see my boyfriend wasn’t actually in bed. I suspect what I saw and heard before was my guide once again. I’m not sure what that message was all about, maybe I literally have to move from where I’m living. Maybe I just have to make moves to find my true calling. Who knows? Time will tell. I remember seeing so many different times on the clock, and like I said before, time felt like it was moving in a spiral, like I was re-experiencing times on the clock. I could have sworn I saw 3:33 multiple times. But that night turned into morning, and I had to go off to work.
By Stephie Ross6 years ago in Families
Different
The photo included is of my oldest daughter and my great grandmother. This women adopted me when I was about 2 weeks of age. Legally about 6. I’ve decided to include this woman because it was not until after she passed away that all of questions and vulnerabilities came to the surface. Prior to her passing I have experienced some traumatic experiences that I will write about later on in a separate story.
By Latisha Folden6 years ago in Families
Mirrors of Memory
This is a story. This story is of the author of this paper. The contradiction is that this is a story that seeks to find the start and the end. A never-ending story, in an ongoing process, with various points inside that have a beginning and an end. The end of each of those ruptures in the story has a material manifestation of a variety of forms and shapes. I can only process my story through the processing of remembering and forgetting.
By Petra Kubisova6 years ago in Families
