Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Families.
The Village: Part 1.1
I lay there motionless. Three years old with both my arms and one leg in splints elevated on slings. Every time I think about it, I can’t help but chuckle as the image of every hospitalized cartoon character comes to mind. I may have even had my head and face bandaged but I don’t recall. The events that led me to that cold somber room weren’t funny, but that is a story for another day. I remember constantly coming in and out of consciousness. Fading from light to darkness, then back to the light again.
By Sebastian Hill5 years ago in Families
You Can Never Go Home Again
I found out what “you can never go home again” means when I arrived at the farm site of our childhood. The barn, looming large, the only building standing, jutted up from the bare Minnesota prairie as I went up the driveway past the grove. The tall trees and pig houses on the east side of the driveway were gone. So was the garage, the old machine shed, the shop, horse barn and chicken house. The pump house right by the barn was barely there, but some repair on the roof and door might bring it back to life.
By Sammie Meadows5 years ago in Families
The scouting Owl
The owl is our guiding bird just like the falcon. This story is about my grandfather who lived in Palau. Our clan was formed from our warring ways because we were the best in fighting land warfare rather than sea warfare. It was because my grandfather's side of the family were tall people. My assumption is that they were either from Java, Philippines, Polynesians from Guam or washed up Spaniards. My height is five feet six inches and my Grandfather's brother, whose name is Ngiraitib was as tall as a basketball player.
By Waldo Yamada5 years ago in Families
Mac-N-Cheese
It was a typical weekend morning. The kids were already up and about playing rowdily in the living room, my son, wearing an eye patch, standing on the couch, my daughter on the floor begging him to let her read her book and stop pestering her. My fiance was off in the kitchen gulping down coffee in a futile attempt to keep up and I - I was soaking in the spring air on the porch (I already knew better than to try and pretend I had energy to deal with those two). Life was good, better than it had been in a long time. Sure my fiancé and I argued from time to time, a situation usually remedied the next day with MacNCheese and a Dr. Pepper (who needs flowers). And yes, the kids were definitely a handful too, but most of the time they were handfuls of joy. I had fought and clawed and sobbed through foster homes, abusive partners, and nasty break-ups to be sitting right there on that porch smiling at the sound of my fiance lecturing the kids in the other room. What sweet, totally normal, bliss it had been...and then the phone rang.
By Cat Wright5 years ago in Families
Life after death
My mother cried into her cupped hands words she hoped were comforting. “You’re too young to be a widow!” she sobbed. The frustration on top of the grief nearly tore me at the seams but neither her nor my father seemed to notice. My father 's poor hand was being crushed in a grip he likely hadn’t received in my 26 years of life. I suppose there’s a silver lining here that my parents' relationship may be reborn in the ashes of mine. Nothing reminds you of what you have more than the death of a loved one. I spent almost the entire wake standing by him, gazing at his peaceful face and wondering what he would say to me if he had a chance to say goodbye. I imagined the power of the car crash had jump started an astral projection of him into our bedroom, where I waited cluelessly watching a movie. Instead of happily munching on popcorn and hugging a pillow that reserved his spot between my arms, I would receive a vision of him and we would say goodbye. I would be shocked at first, jumping violently and spilling popcorn all over the bed. He would put his hands on my shoulders when I tried to run away and I’d calm down instantly. He’d tell me that he loves me, and he would tell me he’s sorry for not leaving work five minutes sooner or five minutes later than he had. Tears streaming down my face I would tell him I love him too, I would tell him that he had become a part of me and I would never be whole again. It helped to escape to a fantasy world where he still existed but it could never last. That night I hadn't cried, there was no popcorn mess on the bed and I stayed cozy underneath the sheets until morning.
By sandra pike5 years ago in Families
