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.
My Little Black Book
After her mother passed away, Nora was left with the daunting task of cleaning out her mother’s house, a house her mom had lived in for well over fifty years. It was a massive old English colonial complete with a huge attic filled with nooks and crannies and lots of hiding spots.
By Nora Hardy5 years ago in Families
The Memento
I spent most of my life watching the sunrise and becoming accustomed to serene mornings by the lake near my house. Most days there was sunlight and this happy feeling when stepping under it but the past week we had rain, just constant rain. It was during this ugly week that I got a telephone call from my estranged mother telling me that her father died and that I had to come home. Grandpa Jake dead, wow… Jake was a strong man it was weird to think he was gone from this world but I suppose he was 97 so he had lived a full and long life.
By Lee Ann Wolsey5 years ago in Families
Woodgrain Goodbye's
The crickets seemed to echo my heart beat. Their uneven cries into the field reminded me of a tattletale. A mean little girl in my kindergarten class who would tattle to the teacher whenever you did the smallest crime. The reeds whipped my skin as I crossed the marshes that my sister and I had roamed and explored since we were small. I thought briefly of a lullaby Margie used to sing to me about a moon and a river guiding me home.
By Brittney Peters5 years ago in Families
A Little Black
As the local news raced across the screen, “Another black man killed at the hands of a white officer,” angst sprinted through his heart and mind as they relayed the baton of police brutality that strikes every black man’s sense of security in America. Desensitization would be passable, yes, but for a teenage boy who had already hurdled his way through self-discovery, events like this were beaten into his conscience as latent reminders of his alienation from actuality. “His family has been contacted to confirm identity.” Newman’s eyes dashed to the TV and then down into space.
By Le'Quan Jackson5 years ago in Families
My Father's House
I am standing in the house my father built. The rooms are cold, as they always were. The myth of California is that it’s always warm. Instead, the damp gets inside of you until your skin crawls. The heat was never turned on in my father’s house.
By Louis Chalif5 years ago in Families
It's all you will ever need
Memories are to be cherished, is what she always said, and wow what memories there are! She, oh grandma that is, Ellie Melrose, fun, chic and practical too was how grandpa described her, but she was that and more. Ellie taught me so much about her philosophy that to fully enjoy life, you had to understand the importance of being kind, and that by doing one good deed a day, we can get so much more from life. She had given so much of herself: always generous with her time, her kindness to others, those she knew, and in equal measure, to those she did not know. As a novelist, Grandma wrote mystery books, and we would always have her read them to us. Ellie would entice us as kids to read, by, leaving clues for us around her shuttered yellow clapperboard house, hidden around her wildflower garden, little notes left for us, clues and riddles which in turn would lead us to discover treasures, easter eggs, birthday gifts. From my ninth birthday onwards my gifts would always involve a little black book, like the one’s she had in her car’s glove box, in her handbag, in her study, she said all you need in life is a little black book and a good sharp pencil, indeed, this was true, as a novelist she would suddenly reach for one of her books, to jot down a new idea, the next chapter, the resolution to writers' block, I loved to see her do this, I loved to read her books, always mysteries to be unraveled, her love of intrigue. Staying at their house we would watch episodes of Colombo and I would marvel that she always knew who the culprit was.
By Marian Hanly5 years ago in Families
A Child's Secret
I always liked thunderstorms. I counted the loud unexpected booms and cracks late into the night. 1….2…3… I still heard the yelling downstairs. 4…5….6. They could easily outlast even the longest storms. Soon enough the counting stopped distracting me and I crawl out of bed and press my ear to the door. I don’t know what a chat message is, or why my dad is mad about it. But I strain to hear more. Yesterday was about something called a Visa, today I finally understand its about the new computer. I almost never get a turn but when I do it’s always fun to press the little squares until the mines blow up. I should tell him how fun the computer is, and he shouldn’t be so mad. But I jump as the bathroom door slams and I hear crying. 7….8….9. I’m afraid when the pounding on the bathroom door starts, and the counting still isn’t working.
By Jennifer Masciola5 years ago in Families
