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.
Now Helena is gone.
A tiny sparrow skittered along the warm concrete path infront of Frederich. It chittered sweetly, and tilted it's head from one side to another, looking up at the boy resting in stillness. It wasn't unlike Frederich to help others. But today he didn't quite feel like helping in the way he knew he would be asked. He sat quietly on the bench in the courtyard behind his father's office and looked at the small leather book in his lap. It was black, with thin cracks along the soft spine after many years of use. It was his diary and within the pages were details of his life he would never speak aloud, the naïve confessions and wishes of an eleven year old. He breathed in the warm August air deeply and let the smell of grass and apple blossom comfort him. He wanted to run to his bedroom to grab his favourite pen, to write down the many thoughts that were quickly overcrowding his head. Had he heard his uncle correctly? If his uncle kept pushing, then he would have to admit everything. Before this summer, he had been a companion to his aunt, Helena. She was blind, and Frederich had been her aid around the house since he was eight, and his father had seen him grow wistful as his older brother Karl paid him less attention than when they were younger. After school, he had spent countless hours reading to her, walking with her, describing her gardens and the weather, making her coffee. They had been like mother and son (his own mother having died after his birth), and her unexpected death that May had caused him the sharpest of heartaches imaginable. He had cried every night for months, but by late July he could hold his tears back if he wanted to. He thought back to what he heard his Uncle Peter say to his father this morning: “It can't just be 'lost' for crying out loud, Sam, you know it! You'll have to ask Freddie again, he's the one who spent the most time with her.” Frederich looked over his shoulder through the open doors into his father's office where his father was now, at his desk, quietly reading a letter with knotted brows and a hand holding his square chin. However much he loved, and feared, his father, he didn't think he could tell him the truth. His sister had been the only kindness in his father's hard life, and now she was gone; Frederich knew his father was changed. Squinting through the light thrown down on the cobblestones and grass of the courtyard at the small sundial ahead of him, Frederich observed it was nearly time for lunch. His stomach was in knots and he needed desperately to talk to Karl about the mounting guilt in his mind - he and his brother had been the only ones who knew she had the money. Karl, who was seventeen, clever and affable, had come to visit Helena one afternoon, whilst Frederich was reading (slowly, painfully) Dostoyevsky to her. He knew Karl liked to flit around the house and look in boxes, drawers and books. But he didn't think his brother would ever find anything exciting, until he did. One afternoon, a month before Helena's death, he'd found a small, plain, dark wooden box in a bureau dresser drawer, which made no noise when shaken, but was locked. Naturally he wanted to find the key, and a curious mind pushed him to search further, till he found the miniature brass key in a drawer below an envelope cubbyhole. Karl had thought he'd find some photographs, or a letter perhaps, not $20.000. He had thought it fake, never having seen dollar notes before, and almost laughed out loud to think why all of this cash would be locked in a box. But the notes were crinkled, dry and faded – not how you'd assume fake money to look. After talking discreetly to an older boy at the local post office, Karl had discerned that the American money was real, and confided so in Frederich. Frederich had confided in his diary. Together they joked over dreams of what they could do and buy if they changed the money or ran to America, but wondered how it had came to be, when their aunt didn't work and their uncle was just an accountant. Helena had never mentioned anything to him about America, no holidays there or far away friends across the sea. She'd only mentioned that Uncle Peter had once had a long business trip to Chicago. But she had also mentioned that the reason she and Uncle Peter didn't get along so well anymore was a 'difference in morals' – but Frederich has only understood that to mean that she disliked him smoking, and he thought she cussed too much, which she did. Neither of the boys liked their uncle Peter, with his scornful laughs and patronizing advice. They knew their father wasn't so keen on him either, and was bothered greatly by a more frequent presence of him since his sister's death. As soon as Helena had passed, the boys had discussed what would happen to the money – Frederich had been scared and thrilled to admit he wanted to hide it, much as Karl did. And it had been easy enough to do, no one suspected the usually honest brothers – Aunt Helena couldn't see, and Uncle Peter stayed out her living room even when he wasn't at work. It wasn't until they had heard their father and uncle talking about 'lost money' and a 'debt' that Frederich realized that they had what someone looking for. The thing was, Frederich knew that it was now with Karl. Karl who had ran away two months ago, telling noone, not even his brother, where he was going. The small bird that Frederich had been watching hopped away, and he imagined that maybe it knew how he felt, and was taking away some of his worries to wherever it flew next.
By Max Claire5 years ago in Families
Everlasting
The sound of his retching weighs heavily on my heart as I patiently rub his back with my hand. These last few months, I feel as though we have all fallen into a horrible routine. Wake up, eat, go to work, watch as my loving brother drinks away more of his soul, and repeat. I try and be there for him, but there isn't anything that I can do that will make that raw pain go away.
By Kerri-Anne Kendrick5 years ago in Families
Infinite
Infinite His hands moved with practiced ease; an ease that was depicted through every crack in the skin of his hands, and by all the calluses that had built up on his fingertips. His hair was a silver sea of threads, much finer than the threads he used every day, as he sat at his seasoned workbench and stool. Aria was still a small child at the agile age of seven, but she looked at her father thoughtfully as she watched his steady hands move, as though they’d always known the steps to binding a book, as if he’d been born doing it. She studied the defined lines pinching his eyebrows and squinting his eyes, a look that some might interpret as angry, but Aria only knew as focused. He finished his stitch and looked down at his patiently watching Aria, bringing a soft smile to his tired face. “I’m glad you watch so intently Aria, one day you’ll be able to do this, and this bookstore will be yours' ', he gave her face a soft caress before once more returning to his work.
By Katielyn Mason 5 years ago in Families
Fairy Wings and Sandwiches
Everything seemed so much more magical when I was younger. The world and life around me still had secrets, so those hazy blank spaces were left for the imagination of a child to run wild. Wind rustling through autumn-touched leaves could be the sounds of fairies taking flight and the tinkling of wind chimes in the distance was their laughter as they danced through nature.
By Courtney Russell5 years ago in Families
The Rose Garden Inn
It’s funny, the things that you think about after something bad has happened. Things that become so much clearer to you once it’s too late to change the outcome. The seconds it could have taken to say one more “I love you” or “thank you” to someone now linger as manifested regret; a regret that is so tangible you can feel it with every breath you take. You cannot change the past, you begin to realize, and it hurts. If only there was some way to make it right. If only you could go back and do what you know you should have done while you had the chance. If only there was some way to rewrite your life and undo the things that now haunt you. If only you could guarantee the happy ending that you so desire.
By Elsie Regina5 years ago in Families
Burnt Toast
“Darling, I think you’re burning the toast.” “Grandma, I haven’t even put it in yet! I’m still making the coffee.” I’m making breakfast at my grandmother’s house. All us grandkids are supposed to rotate each weekend to come visit and look after her for a bit, to give Mum a break. Lately though it seems like my three brothers all have something better to do, so I’ve been picking up the extra slack. Not that I mind! She’s alright, as far as grandmas go. She can be a bit fussy at times though.
By Jess Edwards5 years ago in Families
Jean
Time had seemed immaterial since Jean passed. After having sorted through a room of her memories, records, and knickknacks I found myself in the garden. I don’t recall the steps I took to get there, nor moving at all, but I remember drinking in the scenery of the garden she had so carefully tended to over the decades. The pale light of dawn glowed purple through petals of the Clematis flowers while glints of reflected light shimmered off of the dew just below the receding fog.
By Shelby Dotson5 years ago in Families
Pink Hydrangea
There was no reason for the black notebook to be in the Free Little Library. It was very obviously not a book—completely blank and rather unassuming, only the size of Jill’s palm. She grabbed it anyway, along with a dog-eared copy of Les Misérables, and put both of them in her grocery bag on top of the bananas.
By K.A. Peters5 years ago in Families
The Park Bench
I was 10 years old when I met the man who would change my life forever. It was a beautiful summer afternoon in the year 1976, Mom and I had just moved to a new town and I was excited to play at the neighborhood park for the first time. The playground equipment was rusted and dull, much like the rest of the community, but I was still determined to make the best out of it. While running to the swing set, I was startled by a figure of middle-aged man sitting on the park bench. I stopped to say hello and the man looked up slowly with a sad smile and nodded his head. I made my way to the swings but found myself curious about this man. He seemed to be in his own world, focusing solely on writing in the little black book in front of him. About an hour had passed when mom told me that it was time to leave. I looked in the direction of the man but I was too intimated to say goodbye.
By Brianna Neier5 years ago in Families
