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.
Shadows of the past
The trust Tinu had placed in Uncle Dilly, along with the respect she had for him as a guardian and mentor, was shattered in those moments. Frozen in shock and disbelief, Tinu couldn't understand how the man who had been her savior had become the source of her deepest pain.
By Marc Linah3 years ago in Families
Explain why popcorn pops to a kid who loves watching it in the microwave.. Content Warning.
Popcorn is like a tiny explosion of joy in a bag. You might have wondered why those little kernels magically transform into fluffy, delicious snacks when you pop them in the microwave. Well, get ready to embark on a journey into the world of popcorn popping – it's a mix of science, fun, and a dash of magic!
By JOSIAH NWOKO3 years ago in Families
Speak Up
Things start getting real when you start setting boundaries and owning your truth. However, you lose everyone who is not for your highest good. Now that's a hard lesson to learn because the people you thought were supposed to be in your life the people who said they loved you or they got you, hid or left you alone to drown in your pain unbeknownst to them because you hold everything inside until you finally can't take it anymore, then you explode....learning how to react differently than what you normally do is a challenge and you must stay calm to pass that test.
By Annetta Brown3 years ago in Families
If I Could Turn Back Time
If I Could Turn Back Time If I could turn back time, oh, how different things would be. The regrets weigh heavy on my heart, like stones dragging me down into the depths of despair. If only I had known then what I know now, perhaps the course of my life would have been altered, shaped by the wisdom gained through years of trials and tribulations.
By Melania J.L.3 years ago in Families
Waiting for Me
I knew you before I knew myself; your smiles, laughter and eyes that sparkled, almond brown, back at me when I dared to look into any mirror, anywhere. You were blooming, not with sustenance nor with proper acknowledgement, you burrowed deeper, hidden behind my skateboard, my cigarettes, my unwanted peach fuzz. I resented you for being me; for stealing my place, my ease, my friendships. I despised you for pushing me forward, tossing me to the wolves, the haters, never caring to hold me tight. No one wants to be me, the unwanted babe, the banished boy in cohorts with a pushy budding young woman. I avoided you, I tried to smother you over and over for what, WHAT?; in this world what could you give me but rejection, hate and fear. I am like driftwood, washed up onto the rocky beach, stepped over, casted back to sea only to wash up again unwanted. I lost my father because of you, he unwanted me. You just had to take over my life, make my every moment hell. I sit in the shower broken; my body does not reflect you. My heart longs for love yet who will love this pain, this budding flame of dreams? I don't want me; how can anyone else? I have played and paid and now, with stacked dishes in my sink, dirty clothes on my floor, a room with a bed unmade I sit and I wonder why the hell I was born to be me in this creepy, stupid world. I am sensitive, smart and funny but that will never be enough. I am a weirdo to white guys with mohawks and big, black boots. Stomp, stomp, THUD! Will I one day be under their feet? Kicked, beaten to a bloody heap of white bones just like theirs? Will I relive my rejection from my father over and over and over or will there be a miracle? I lay low. Why the hell would I flaunt my femininity to appease those in charge at the clinic to recreate me? I am Frankenstein, an embarrassment to those whom I loved. My hair is falling out, I cry when I shave every morning. The one thing, the one person rather, I have is my mom. Somehow, for some I just don't know reason she keeps believing in me; she loves me and shows up. I have deceived her so many times, broken her heart and frightened her yet she continues to want me. I am never sure about anyone else. Never sure, never. I don't go outside unless I have no choice. The bus scares me; will my she in me be seen? She is stronger and emerging faster than my confidence. I keep my head down, stare at my phone in my oversized hoody hoping to just get to where I am supposed to be. When I get to where I am going I am still awkward and keep quiet. They see a brown boy, a lost case in a system of losers. At least that's what I think. Can I trust them to help me when I am amber in a porcelin boutique? Never know, never know. Mom texts me too much 'cause she worries. I guess she should be concerned; nothing seems to flow easily in my world, my burnt out boy, my screaming girl; my GOD, I am my twin. My eyelashes are long, my eyes are always wanting to cry, but I don't do so anymore, well, not that much. What does it do other than make my mom sad? Does anyone NOT see me as a freak of nature? I mean, other than mom? I don't understand why I should be PROUD when the whole damn world is grateful they don't have a kid like me. I get hugs from my mom, nice words from my doctor, sweet messages from far away aunt. I honestly do not know how long I can hold on to me. Alone. Me, myself and us. Transgender is not something I would have chosen. Why would anyone want to put a fucking sign on their door that said, "beat me"? That's where I am now. At the door. My life is wrapped up and placed in the bottom drawer of my dresser; there is no happiness, just lonesome, unwanted thoughts. My heart beats so loudly when I lay still; my she is free when we turn off the lights, look up at the stars and safely under the blankets look at texts from mom saying stuff like, " goodnight sweetie", "How are you?", " I miss you". When she says that I am her daughter, I shine, just a bit before my light goes out again.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Families
A Dreamtime Reunion
Alone, sadly seating at the table eating dinner alone, suddenly my mother appear its was a surprise for me seeing my mom in front of me, mother why are you here? " I said" with a heaviness in my heart and teary eyed she look at me saying, Who's gonna wipe your tears when you crying, then I started to cry hearing those words from a mother its like millions of pains can fade away, I almost cant swallow my food that time, but I look at my mom with sadness I replied: mother did you know that you already dead." just like what I saw in a movie, I open my teary eyes in quite dark room at midnight my mom visited me in my dreams, it felt like its real her looks her voice just so real.2016, when I thought mother didn't make it, she was in her hospital bed that time, I don't know what to do, I can't cry in front her because mom doesn't like me and siblings crying, but the heaviness in my heart saw my mom like dying was most painful or even worse feeling I turn my back and walk outside the hospital room, and find myself crying out loud inside the hospital chapel, I don't mind who's seeing me in that situation, I cried while I talk to God "please don't take our mother I can't do it yet please." God listen to me he gave three years she died in Aneurysm then Cardiac arrest in October 2019 that time, I surrender to god's will.In these dreams, I find solace and guidance. Whether it's a shared laugh, a comforting gesture, or a poignant conversation, the dreams of my mother become a source of reflection and introspection. They serve as a reminder of the enduring impact she has had on my life, shaping my values, and influencing my journey.These dreams are more than mere illusions; they are a sanctuary where conversations left unsaid find their voice, and emotions left unexpressed find a canvas for release. It's as if the subconscious mind becomes a stage, where the play of emotions unfolds with my mother as the central character. The dream sequences are a blend of reality and imagination, where the boundaries of time and space blur, allowing for a reunion that transcends the limitations of the waking world.Years pass and it was not easy like sometimes, I think it was just a dream a bad dream, and I wake up and saw my mother alive again, but I just saw her only in my dreams every night until now ,only in my dreams that I would finally accept the fact that she's not coming home anymore, and it wasn't easy for me every move I'll make I cried every single day changes every holiday's, birthday's is not the same anymore there's emptiness, there's something missing.2024, still feeling empty and still there's sadness still tears when I wake up dreaming of her but there's one thing that I know my mom wants me to remember that she's still beside me even if I don't see, touch or hear her voice maybe the reason why she's always appear in my dream is to remind me everything is just fine and would be fine one day....soon that everything is happen for a reason every changes challenges, endings and beginnings Dreaming of my mother is not just a nightly occurrence; it is a profound exploration of love, loss, and the enduring nature of a connection that transcends the boundaries of time and space.
By April Jordan3 years ago in Families
Sad Songs. Content Warning.
I knew who Roberta Flack was at a very early age; God knows I heard every song she sang. I love her still, yet undoubtedly she reminds me of him. Daddy sat with his record player on the floor, his legs crossed in what some called, "Indian style" which by the way is not correct to say now. I don't know any other word to describe it though. He would smoke Marlboros, drink cheap beer or dark wine and cry. Daddy cried a lot. I did not know why way back then. As a broken woman now, well, I guess he had good reason. Nothing soothes the soul more than music. We remember who we are, where we were, why we smiled, all because of music. Late at night I miss him despite his need to keep moving, not only place to place but woman to woman. I was his only until I wasn't. My Momma loved him even when he was cheating, threatened with statutory rape by an underage girl's parents and that left us broke, Momma scarred and lost in his wake. Momma took up more than one job and he didn't help us one bit. He told everybody he did help us though. He was always so charming, as smooth as chenille, and oh so handsome just like a movie star. His lies were so believable it made anyone who contradicted him look bad, let's just say, he had a hold on people; good people who believed in him sometimes questioned other good people who were also up against a wall with their truths, their own 'believe it or not stories', that were entwined with his lies. There were so many others than me with their own broken up dreams, their need to feel safe, to be heard. I was part of his tribe until I began to remember and as always girls like me are just considered delusional. I have half sisters and brothers, too. None of them really want to know my story 'cause it messes up theirs. I remember his fourth wife coming to live with us. She did not want a daughter older than she, I mean who would? She believed in him after I had given up a million times and damn, she was cold. It was clear there would be no place for me in my nostalgic, narcissistic, father's life once she set foot in the door. Where should I be, where should I go? She not only wanted me out from my father's home, but just gone, like in disappear. It was a slow burning fire and I was not about to see my, at that time, only baby sister be distanced from me. Suddenly, at least to me, this wife became the accessible one, the reliable one, the Alpha. Losing my baby sister's faith in me when I had taken care of her alone, when he was drunk and falling all over the place felt like a wasp sting in the heart, hell, a whole hive of wasps stinging me to near death. To watch him manipulate and groom this new woman younger than myself was, and still is, an unnerving experience. I know deep down my sister loves me, yet she became the good one and nobody saw the good in me anymore. So, back to my father's love of a good time I remember us flying down the highway in a convertible and blue grass music was blasting; I hated the wind so I was scrunched down into the backseat floorboard. He had a girlfriend I liked a lot who had a dachshund named Lucy. Anyway, in that little space between two leather bucket seats I saw my daddy's hand slip over to his girlfriend's legs, then he moved it up to the top of her pants and wedged it down the front. What the heck was he doing? He then started talking about cotton, rubbing her and saying how he missed her little cotton. I was frozen. It did not come to my mind until I was a young teen; after babysitting somebody from church's kids the father drove me home. He smelled like booze and at a side road he slowed the car down, he put his nasty hand on my thigh and leaned in to kiss me. I knew right then to push him away as no way he was going to try to touch my cotton. He said something about he had the wrong impression. I was fourteen, what impression did I give him? When I got home and went inside, just like always I said nothing. The wife of this man would call and ask me to babysit and I'd say no and Momma didn't understand; I was so afraid to tell her. What is wrong with me? I ask myself this a whole lot lately. My little me pushes through and wants grown up me to deal with my creepy past; I wish my memories could be stolen. I'd do anything to sleep through the night and not remember no more.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Families
