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.
Life Is Like a River: Its Nature Is to Keep Flowing
Life, in its essence, is a continuous journey — ever-changing, ever-evolving, and ever-flowing like a river. The comparison between life and a river is both poetic and profound. Just as a river begins as a small stream and gradually grows, meandering through various terrains, so does life start from infancy, flowing through childhood, youth, adulthood, and eventually old age. It encounters challenges, obstacles, and beautiful moments along the way, but the most important thing is motion—the flow.
By Niranjon Chandra Royabout a year ago in Families
Brothers Divided: A War Within Nepal
A new day broke over the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas. The sun, golden and quiet, rose slowly over Mount Everest, casting its first light on a remote village nestled in the hills of Rolpa, Nepal. A place where time seemed to move slower, where life had always been hard—but recently, it had become harder.
By Roshan Chauhanabout a year ago in Families
The Last Voicemail From My Mother
The Last Voicemail From My Mother There it sat. Unopened. Unheard. A voicemail that had lived in the dusty corners of my phone for six years. From my mother. Her last message. Left a few hours before the accident that took her life.
By Muhammad Hakimiabout a year ago in Families
My First Love
My First Love ♥ From the moment I was born until now, there is one love whose debt I have never been able to repay—and never will be able to—and that is the love of my mother. When I was innocent, unable to speak or walk, she could understand everything I needed just from my cries and laughter. She would instantly know what I wanted or what pain I was in. From childhood, through teenage years, and now into adulthood, my mother’s love remains just the same. I still remember when I was in school, how she would listen to my lessons every day after I came home and gently scold me—oh, what beautiful days those were. And when I started memorizing the Quran, even more than my teacher, my mother played the most important role. Her strictness, withholding food if I didn’t memorize properly, and then explaining things to me with love when I got stubborn—if that didn’t work, then she'd resort to another method (a little discipline, "Mola Bakhsh"). Whether it rained, was cold, or hot, she would wake me up at 4 a.m. Without fail. I was stubborn—I would skip Fajr prayers in the mosque every third day. But she would still wake me up on time, and if I didn't get up, she’d pour water in one ear, then the other. Still, my routine never settled. Now when I remember those times, I wish I hadn’t caused her such trouble. But time gone by never returns. When I completed my memorization and returned home, I still remember the joy in her eyes—tears of happiness along with congratulatory hugs. It felt like witnessing a glimpse of Paradise. After passing Matric, I came to Lahore. It was my first time leaving home. My mother’s advice and prayers were with me. During the third year of my Dars-e-Nizami studies, I started feeling homesick. I called home crying and told her, “Mama, I miss you. I don’t want to study anymore.” I thought she would tell me to come home. But instead, her response was the same firm tone and scolding I heard during my memorization days: “Now you miss me? After half the year is gone? Focus on your studies now. Don’t even think about quitting.” All of these memories are just small reflections of my love for my mother. Every day of mine is in her name, but today the whole world celebrates Mother's Day, so I want to honor the one because of whom I gained everything—the one who taught me the difference between right and wrong, who gave me moral upbringing, and taught me to respect elders and love the younger ones. Respecting parents is an obligation on every person. A mother is like a refreshing breeze for her child. She is the first school, the one who gives courage, strength, and morals to her child. My mother is my path to Paradise. My Mama is my strength, my courage, my every success. My parents are my true spiritual guides. I pray to Allah: May He keep our parents safe and sound, bless their lives with longevity and barakah. Ameen. "My Lord, have mercy upon them as they brought me up [when I was] small." (Quran 17:24)
By Dr Gabriel about a year ago in Families
How Selling My Mother’s Old Gold Changed My Life – A True Hyderabad Story
Introduction: When Sentiment Meets Survival I never imagined I would have to sell my mother’s gold jewelry. It wasn’t just a collection of ornaments. It was a part of her—her wedding necklace, a pair of worn bangles she wore during every festival, and the earrings she wore on my wedding day. Each piece told a story, carried a memory, and for me, held emotional value that money couldn’t measure.
By Limo Chicago about a year ago in Families
“The Last Gift: A Mother’s Day I’ll Never Forget”
The Last Gift: A Mother’s Day I’ll Never Forget Mother’s Day has always been special for most people — brunches, flowers, hugs, and handwritten cards. But for me, it’s different now. It’s no longer just about celebration. It’s about remembering, healing, and cherishing the one person who shaped my heart — my mother. This story isn’t wrapped in perfection. It’s wrapped in tears, memories, and the unspoken bond between a mother and her child. This is the story of my last Mother’s Day with her — a day that changed me forever. When Love Speaks Louder Than Words It was May 12th, a bright Sunday morning. The air was warm, the sun was shining, and the world outside seemed to hum with joy. But inside our little house, time felt slower. My mother had been battling cancer for over a year. Each day was a gift, and every moment felt heavier, more meaningful. I had planned something simple for Mother’s Day. Not because I didn’t want to do more — but because I knew what she needed most was peace. So I made her favorite breakfast, played her favorite songs from the 80s, and sat by her side. We didn’t say much. We didn’t need to. She smiled at me — weak, yet full of love. That smile was her language. She didn’t need to say “thank you.” I could feel it in every glance, every squeeze of my hand.
By Saqib Ullahabout a year ago in Families
