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.
What a Wonderful Funeral
A few years ago I lost my dad. As an adult child I drove my mom to the hospital every day and watched as two lovers were saying their goodbys. From the time we were given the diagnosis of stage 4 cancer, it was like our life was on hold. Everything stopped and our family’s focus was to help ease my father and mother through this transition . We also needed to let my parents spend as much time together as they were given.
By Kim Silliker5 years ago in Families
Recently Loosing My Dad
Grief is what many people feel when dealing with a loss. Grief comes in a variety of stages and can last for an undetermined amount if time. When dealing with sadness, time can make it a little easier for some, but others may never recover. I am currently grieving myself, my dad passed away February 22, 2021. This loss has me extremely heartbroken; I feel my heart is in a million different pieces. I decided to research grief and have found that I am going through several stages.
By Tabitha Easley5 years ago in Families
A Rare Rose
It was a hot summer day; the sun beat down with intensity as the old farmer walked along the dirt road. Even through his straw hat, the sun rays beat down upon his brow. With his tattered handkerchief, he wiped the sweat beads that formed on his forehead. The heat sweltered and his steps started to grow slower, but old farmer trudged on down the road with his mule by his side. As tired as he was, he had to keep going. Dressed in shabby overalls, covered in dust from the dirt road, the old farmer’s appearance drew both attention and laughter from people that passed by in cars. He wasn’t fazed at all. “If only they knew,” as he reminisced on days passed. The old farmer remembered how this stretch of land used to be mostly farms, bountiful with fruits and vegetables, not to mention plenty of animals. This was a time where transportation consisted of horse-drawn buggies and wagons, especially in the small town where he grew up. He was the fourth of seven children, all of whom were gone now, including his parents. Growing up, his father was a sharecropper, his mother a homemaker. A little felt like a lot in those times. No matter how bad things got, his parents made sure there was still food on the table and clothes on their back. Winters used to be harsh, but he remembered how he and his siblings would snuggle up under one of Mama’s hand-made quilt in front of the wood fireplace. As he grew older, he worked side-by-side with his father in the fields, planting seeds and such. He admired how hard his father worked to provide for the family. Interrupting his thoughts was the bray of his old mule. “We can stop for a minute,” he said to the old mule as he pulled out a canteen of water. As he and his mule rested, his mind wondered back to when he met his true love. When he grew of age, he went to school, but he wanted to help the family. As the oldest boy, he would pick up odd jobs, which consisted of working neighbors’ fields and making deliveries for some of the stores in town. One of these deliveries was where she was working as a young maid. When she answered the door, her smile lit his heart up. She chuckled as he stuttered to say “Delivery”. Years later, they married after a grand courtship. She was his world. He always called her his rare rose, because she was like no other. A tear formed in his eye as he thought about his love, now gone. Looking under the brim of his hat, he saw that the sun was setting. “Not much farther now,” he said as he and his mule set off again on their journey. Just as the moon and stars embraced the sky, there was his destination, his wife’s grave. He stared at the headstone, holding back tears. But he smiled as he began to think about her smile, laugh, everything that he loved and missed about her. He removed the knapsack on his mule’s back, pulling a silk handkerchief from it. Within the handkerchief was a rose gently wrapped. It was no ordinary rose. When the old farmer lost his wife, this rare rose with a plethora of colors grew amid the red roses. When he saw this rose, he knew his wife’s spirit was still there with him. Kneeling, he placed the rose on the grave, caressing the headstone. Looking up to the bright starry sky, he said “Goodbye, my love” and began his journey back home. As he glanced back at the grave, the engraving on the headstone seemed to be illuminated by the bright moon. An engraving which read, my loving wife, the rarest rose shone bright as if his wife’s spirit knew the rose was there. The moon’s beam seemed to be set on the rose laying on the grave. A rose colored with all the dimensions of his never-ending love. A rose that withstood the journey, with not a petal touched or broken. A rare rose for his rare rose.
By Regina Greathouse5 years ago in Families
Proper etiquette when dealing with grieving widows
Everyone processes death differently and when a spouse dies the one left behind may be dealing with varied emotions. This is why people should be careful regarding the way they approach a grieving widow. Within one week of my husband dying I have learned so much and I now share in order to educate others.
By Cheryl E Preston5 years ago in Families
For My Grieving Sister
From the moment we are born the process begins, our cells multiply rapidly until they start dying faster than they regenerate. However, for some of us our time comes to an end before the cycle does. This is for my sister that I regrettably left behind.
By Alyssa McKinzie5 years ago in Families
Being a Taboo Parent
Being a special needs parent shouldn't be as isolating nor as awkward as it is. If you have been through a long term nicu stay, it should not be met with awkward sympathy nor should it automatically shut other parents up. I mean, yes, back when I was living at nationwide children's hospital alone with only my infant, it did get depressing to see how many people came and went. It was a bitter sweet thing to see so many people make the going home announcement while I was wondering when would it be our turn but she's out now. She's out, she is healthy and most importantly she's a survivor. We don't want sympathy for what she went through. We'd rather have excitement that she made it.
By Bethany Boggs5 years ago in Families
The death of a spouse is different than others
There is something that sets the death of a spouse apart from all others you love who die and that is intimacy. There is a level of connecting that you don’t have with children, siblings, or other relatives. You sleep in the bed with your husband or wife for years or decades and make love with them. Side by side, skin to skin you lay each night. Your significant other knows places on your body that no one else will ever be aware of. You might shower or bathe with your spouse and do other intimate things that are not part of your relationship with other people.
By Cheryl E Preston5 years ago in Families
The Eye of the Cardinal
Through the eye, we discover the connection between the physical and spiritual realm. Any new venture or work we take on brings us new experiences, insights, and understanding of ourselves and the world around us. In order to achieve what many think is impossible, we must be willing to step into the unknown and embrace the mystery. By letting go while stepping into the blindness of night, we discover a new light that reveals a power within which guides the self into the magnificent wonders of the universe, mother nature, the divine, and the all seeing eye of God!
By Bobby Bushnell5 years ago in Families
Buck's Row
Buck’s Row. I hate this street, my mother brings me here often, I’m not sure why, she always says “This is where mummy works, darling.” She never tells me what she does, only that she keeps people happy. She leaves me round the corner, out of sight, there’s a row of arched windows and I sit in the third closest to mummy. “Stay here, Georgiana, don’t move a muscle, mummy will be back by the by.” She says, tucking a blanket tightly around my shoulders. The arches provide a bit of privacy from passers-by while I lie there till morning. Sometimes I come in close neighborhood with frightening drunken men but mummy never leaves me without a whistle to call her with and she always comes to my rescue. “Why can’t I stay with Mr. Thomas, mummy?” I asked, pulling on her bonnet strings. Mummy had just gotten a new bonnet, it was dark colored with velvet round the edges, I thought it was awfully handsome. “Mr. Thomas can’t look after you, when he’s sleeping, now can he?” She kissed my forehead and turned round the corner. Mr. Thomas is mummy’s friend, we live in his flat, his hands are always black from smithing in his shop below and he turns my yellow curls black when he ruffles ‘em, Mummy says I look like a ragamuffin, I take that as a bit of an affront. Mummy says he isn’t my Papa, I don’t remember much of me real Papa, the only memory I have of him is when I was a little one, three years ago, only 5 years. He and Mummy were awfully vexed with each other, Mummy accused him of something terrible and he struck her across the cheek. She woke me that night and told me not to make a sound, she walked a long time with me wrapped around her waist, tucked inside her overcoat, it was nearly morning when we made it to Mr. Thomas’s shop, he had been kind to her and she felt safe with him. We haven’t left since.
By Hanna Pope5 years ago in Families
