humanity
Humanity begins at home.
Pines in the Caribbean
THE NURSING HOME Part One: First, a thoughtful challenge; I am willing to bet many folks under the age of 45 have never given much thought to the passage of time. Under 45'ers generally don't think about aging. They think about other things like raising their kids, social media, who's friends with whom, who's been unfriended, how does my selfie look, can I afford a new cell phone, why can't I find a job or a partner and last but certainly not least, am I good-looking enough to attract the right guy. To those who identify with these challenges, I say great. Enjoy! Knock yourself out! Because very soon, the concept of time is going to kick in and and you will feel like you've actually been kicked...in the head.
Carla CeccarelliPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesLife as a Daughter of Agent Orange, Part 7
Somehow it does not feel as if it has been a week since I last posted. A lot has gone on and frankly, I needed a breather from travelling back through my own timeline — as in Doctor Who, travelling one's own timeline is a dangerous game. Remembering all that I have for this story has stirred up feelings I never thought I would feel again. This past week I have been angry with my dad as I have not been in several years, probably since I was in Texas.
Elizabeth AdolphiPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesGrowing Up Without a Dad
Growing up without your dad around, or not seeing him often...it affects people. As much as people had to admit that it's bothered them, believe me...it has. The reason I've decided to speak about this is that it's something which I can relate to deeply. I didn't see my "dad" very often as a child, and when I did... it's not exactly good memories which I can recall. And honestly, I feel like this subject topic is not spoken about enough, more often its just avoided because the people who can relate to this situation lack/ignore the emotion to connect with it and speak about it. So here I am, speaking openly about it for the first time and about how much it's actually affected me.
On Death, Trauma, and Self-Forgiveness
On Sunday, February 4, it will be 13 years since my stepfather died of an overdose. It seems like yesterday, as all life-changing events typically do. I would’ve been 9-years-old, and don’t remember feeling any emotion when I saw the foam falling from his mouth. The following is my journey to forgiving myself for that.
Estelle ThomasonPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesMy Life and How Rough It Has Been
My name is Whitney King and I am 22-years-old. Personally all the roughness of my life started when I was eight-years-old. Well that's when the actual pain started. I was abandoned by the man I thought was my biological father and finding out three months later he wasn't. So that's when the anger and self pity on myself started to flood in. I became violent and out of control to the point I could not control the anger and hate that I had towards my family and for myself. My mom had a choice to give me up and put me into the system but she didn't. She actually had them put me in a children's hospital up in Concord, California, which I did get a lot of help from. I was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder which scared my mom, my family, and it also scared me.
Whitney KingPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesA Road Less Traveled: Chapter 2
Okay, so let's rewind here a little bit. I know, I know, I am keeping you waiting. Suck it up, we will get there soon enough.
Rheana RoosePublished 6 years ago in FamiliesMonsters and Me: Growing Up with Abuse
There are days that I forget the memories rattling around in my head are mine and not some bad movie I watched. It's hard for me to imagine that the scared little girl always looking for an exist was a key part of who I was. But then there are days that I feel myself returning to her, as if I never grew out of her shoes. On those days I find it hard to get out of bed and face my life now, the depression being an uphill battle I'm never 100% sure I want to win. Some days I'm in my room, singing along to whatever song I'm listening to on repeat for the next few days, huge smile on my face, as I dance like nothing in the world can touch me. Other days I'm hiding under a mound of blankets, not eating for days, crying at the memories that berate me. On those days I think of all the questions that were left unanswered to me. Why did he love the bottle more than he did me? How come my sister was perfect but I was nothing to him? Why hasn't he changed after the drinking stopped? Where did everything go so very very wrong?
Lilli BehomPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesWhy Paid Family Leave Is Needed In New York State
"Starting January 1, 2018, New York State's Paid Family Leave provides New Yorker's with job-protected, paid leave to bond with a new child, care for a loved one with a serious health condition or to help relieve family pressures when someone is called to active military service abroad."
Millington LockwoodPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesMaking Our Way Through the Muck
Tonight my middle child, my youngest daughter, made me cry. We were sitting around the supper table remembering when my youngest daughter and her brother first met my husband. We talked about their first reactions and we laughed about them. As we cleared the table my daughter said, “You know mum I remember that I wasn’t very nice to you (at that time). I feel bad about that and I am sorry how I treated you back then.” I gave her a hug and told her how she was but a young child then and she was going through a lot; her father and I had split up and he had been abusive to all of us. I told her that I bared a lot from all three of my children at that time, but I had big shoulders and took it because I knew they were hurting. We hugged and she said she was sorry and that she loved me. I am grateful for her apology.
Janet RhodesPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesThe Envelope
Joe was a lonely, broken man, walking cold wet streets late one Christmas Eve. He wore, contrastingly, the jolliest of outfits, clad in the uniform of his latest job a mall Santa Claus. He was a poor imitation of St. Nick, sad, slumping, looking thin and depleted, despite a mound of stuffing around his middle. He oozed the odor of Jack Daniels, and walked as only a drunk could walk. He staggered down the street, thinking of family he never saw anymore. He was alone and angry. He hated Christmas. In fact, the only reason he kept his Santa job was because he felt it fitting to collect on this awful day any way he could.
George BeigheyPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesLife as a Daughter of Agent Orange, Pt. 1
I honestly do not know where to even begin telling my story. I remember growing up, at least to the age of 10, life was pretty normal and decent. Mom worked and Dad stayed home with my little sister and I. I recall my dad being strict, but that was nothing compared to what was about to start in late 1999.
Elizabeth AdolphiPublished 6 years ago in FamiliesThe Gifts and Curses of Time
Fridays couldn’t come any quicker. The entire week, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and so on are spent anticipating Friday. Typically, Friday evenings are spent at my friend Kaylin’s house, congregating around the TV for Full House reruns; 7:30 marathons couldn’t start any sooner! Amidst Stephanie Tanner’s “how rude” schpeal, the unknown number that has already called three times that day calls for the fourth. I excuse myself during the next commercial break, to deal with the “anonymous caller.” I hold the phone to my chest, allowing it to ring until I can answer it in the bathroom. A familiar voice states, “This is a prepaid call, you will not be charged for this call, this call is from…” I mouthed my father’s name and correctional facility. This is the second time I’ve spoken to my dad this week, on account of his “good conduct” with the other inmates. My excitement for the weekend, the TV marathons, and free time with my friends overshadowed my reality. Putting on a brave face and improvising excuse after excuse was already easy: “Just another guy prank calling me.” Today, my dad only had enough change to call for five minutes. Tomorrow, the next day, and so on, my friends and I will recall the joke for years to come. Today, my dad has five out of his ten years left.
desiree nicolePublished 6 years ago in Families