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.

The Sound of Empty Shoes
By Shaheer I never knew silence could sound like footsteps. When my father passed away, he left behind a pair of old leather shoes—brown, cracked at the edges, polished so many times the shine had become part of their skin. They sat by the front door for weeks after the funeral, like they were still waiting for him to come home. Sometimes, when I walked past, I’d swear they shifted slightly, as though nudged by some invisible foot. But no one dared move them. Not even my mother.
By Shaheer7 months ago in Families
Some Days, I Still Hear His Feet Running Down the Hall
There are mornings when the silence in this house is so complete, it feels almost violent. It’s been nearly three years since Daniel died, and yet—some days—I still hear his feet running down the hall. Not in a haunted way, not in a ghost story sense. But like muscle memory—how your arms remember the weight of something long gone.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Families
I Keep Setting the Table for Three. There Are Only Two of Us Now
Every evening at six, I pull out the chairs, one by one, from the old oak dining table. It’s a simple act, mechanical by now. Fork, knife, spoon. Napkin folded in half. Water glasses. I place the plates carefully – one for me, one for Emma, and then… the third.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Families
I Didn't Cry at the Funeral. I Cried in the Laundry Room.
Everyone kept watching me at the funeral. Eyes skimmed over my stiff posture and dry cheeks like they were waiting for a crack, a single shiver of emotion to make it all feel real. My mother had just died, and I stood at the edge of the casket like a stone monument—unmoving, unreadable. I didn’t cry.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Families
She Only Lived Eight Years. But She Taught Me Everything.
I still remember the way her laugh echoed through our tiny house — bright, unfiltered, and bubbling with life. Emma had a way of making the ordinary seem magical. A cracked sidewalk became a hopscotch course. A broken crayon became a reason to invent new colors. And a rainy day? That was just an invitation for a pillow fort.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Families
What I Lost When My Son Died (And What I Refuse to Let Go)
When my son died, the world didn’t stop turning—but mine did. I remember the exact moment I got the call. It was a Sunday, late afternoon. I was folding laundry, thinking about dinner, planning the next week in my head. Then my phone rang, and everything I thought I knew—everything that felt solid—crumbled in seconds.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Families
When Cutting Ties Is the Kindest Choice: A Guide for Adult Children Considering Going No Contact with a Parent
You Are Not Alone There’s a unique kind of heartbreak that comes with the thought: I might need to cut my parent out of my life.
By No One’s Daughter7 months ago in Families
The Algorithm That Couldn’t Mourn: When AI Fails at Being Human
Walter Reed Medical Center. 2022. Captain Sarah Chen sat in her office, staring at a glowing screen. Lines of text scrolled past clean, precise, and painfully sterile.
By Prince Esien7 months ago in Families
A Letter I Never Sent to My Mother.
I found it yesterday, tucked away in a journal I had abandoned halfway through my sophomore year of college. A yellowing sheet of notebook paper, folded twice and stained at the corners. I recognized the handwriting instantly—mine. The ink had faded in places, but the words still held the weight they did when I first scribbled them down, late one night, in the silence of a dorm room three hundred miles from home.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Families
I didn't speak at your funeral
To the mom who wasn’t mine but loved me all the same. I didn’t get up and speak at your funeral because it wasn’t my space. They invited anyone to talk to you-but you know I’m not just anyone and that I HATE funerals. For me, it’s so much easier to just write down what I would have said, because writing can only be taken at the word- and governed by the punctuation used to emphasis it. In speaking, 60-93% of the communication is nonverbal, and my nonverbal side doesn’t communicate well. I didn’t speak cause funerals are for closure, and I am hardly ready to close our relationship. I didn’t speak because I didn’t show up for you and I know you’re ok with that. I hate funerals- and I know you called it a celebration of life, but to me it’s just rebranding.
By Maili Paul7 months ago in Families
The Letter in the Lamp: A Second Chance After 70 . AI-Generated.
Her husband, Thomas, had passed in his sleep at 68. Since then, Margaret had grown used to silence — the quiet shuffle of her slippers on the wood floors, the ticking of the kitchen clock, the faint groan of the old house settling. She was 74 now, her hair a soft silver cloud and her fingers bent slightly from arthritis. But her mind? Sharp as ever.
By Ali7 months ago in Families
The Silent Bond
Hands That Never Trembled “He never said much, but his hands told stories.” My earliest memory of my father is his hands—rough, cracked, always busy. They fixed fences, tightened bolts, and carried me when I was too small to walk. He wasn’t a man of words. Love came through action: packed lunches, repaired toys, silent presence.
By Muhammad Ayaz7 months ago in Families