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.
Losing a parent
You would think that because we have parents, no matter how many times they say that they would be in our lives and will always be with us. You would think that because they’re always around throughout your childhood, they were invincible and they wouldn’t die. I was one of those kids who thought parents would be with you forever physically until that one fateful night. It was like any other typical night : watching tv with a sibling. However my mom and step father were out the whole day so I was wondering when they were coming home so I went downstairs to look at the window to see if anything or anyone was outside. On the other side of that glass and the screen door was my mom, pacing slowly back and forth while my step father was on the side of the front door quietly until I opened the door to see what’s wrong. That’s when he puts his hand on my shoulder and said “I’m sorry, Rod.” Me, looking confused, was wondering what is he saying sorry to me for. So I walked further down the walkway to my mom and I could hear her sniffling as her hands were covering her mouth and nose. I asked her what was wrong and she said sorry to me as well so I’m even more confused as into why they’re both saying sorry to me as if they did something wrong. That’s when Mom told me that my father had passed away a couple days before I was supposed to be with him for the weekend during my second week as a freshman in high school. I couldn’t really grasp the concept what I just heard so I went back to the porch, sat down and looked at the ground. Then my little sister came outside and asked what was wrong. They broke the news to her and she started crying. This was around 10 o’clock at night on a Thursday night. We’re all outside, me still in shock, my mom and little sister are crying and my step father trying to comfort us. Our neighbors next door heard them crying so they came out and was wondering what was wrong and they told them what happened. My father’s girlfriend at the time, found him in bed but he wasn’t breathing and later found out that he died due to internal bleeding also my belief of parents being invincible. I haven’t shed any tears until after the funeral and seeing him for the last time. The next time I did shed tears was during an assignment in drama class where it had something to do with our parents I think and I didn’t want to participate. My fists were balled up and tears began to roll down my face and some of my classmates asked me what was wrong though I didn’t say anything until the teacher came over, noticed the tears on my face and asked what was wrong. I told her about my father and she told me to go see the counselor we had in school. I told her what happened and how I felt so then she told me that she’s putting a group together of those who lost a parent or both so we can cope with their passing. I was the only boy in the group and the rest were female but in different grades. It went on for about a year or so until the group was no more and I got better. I understood that thinking about my father so much would affect me as a person and around others so I continued life on a normal track. I do think about him every year he passed away and on his birthday. The next time I shed tears was when after Graduating high school And enlisting in the army. I finished basic training and was about to graduate from Ft.Lee, Virginia. Three accomplishments within 5 months but it wasn’t the same without him. After that, I haven’t been able to shed tears as I kept hearing about people close to me passing away. Hearing about them hurts but it made me numb to the point that I cant cry as easily.
By Rodrick Turner 6 years ago in Families
Unspoken Goodbye
It was a cold winter day. A Saturday to be exact. Working yet again, I dropped our son off at your home for the few hours I needed help. Everything seemed normal, nothing warranting what was about to unfold into the worst nightmare of someone’s life.
By Melissa Clews6 years ago in Families
Ode to Ada
The day I lost my Great-Grandma Ada is a day I have never quite recovered from. I awoke on March 5th, 2006 to news that would rock the world of any 10-year-old. My Grandma Sharon’s cell phone was going off and it woke me up first, I had fallen asleep with my grandma on her bed the night before watching TV and honestly, once I’m unconscious, it’s too much effort to try to get me up. I remember sitting up and nudging my grandma telling her the phone was going off. I handed her the cell phone and saw my uncle’s name as the contact. Her brother, my great uncle, was living with my grandma Ada helping to take care of her. She had just gotten out of a recent hospital stay and we had just been over there the day before. All of the family had actually. We had spent the day eating and going through old family photos with Grandma Ada at the helm sharing all of the memories she could give us about them. Grandma Sharon answered the phone and I could hear my uncle’s words on the other end. My Grandma Ada was on her way to the hospital, and it was bad.
By Sarah Montgomery6 years ago in Families
His wings were ready; my heart was not.
Hi readers I am Alexis, Brandon Chrisan aka Kyle Dean’s mom2. I have been his mom2 since he was 5 years old. In each of my stories I am going to share about falling in love with my kid and left shattered from his senseless death. Let’s face it, there really aren’t too many books on a stepmom who’s not wicked but smitten with her eldest boy on how to grieve if he should die before you? How to not pine for him? Cry for him? You will learn about the kind, funny, wore his heart on a sleeve Brandon. You will also learn about how I felt just like I had given birth to him never differentiating he wasn't biologically mine. And, hopefully at the conclusion of Born to be Brandon’s mom and Kyle Dean’s, you will hopefully feel as if he knew he was born to be my boy too. I will touch on the abuse I felt Brandon endured, the conversations of “He needs to come to Texas; Brandon needs to be heard and grounded, so he doesn’t float away”. The control, manipulation and bitterness fueled by alcohol and the lack of love he received when he wasn’t home in Texas. I know everyone wants to know his cause of death and I will get there I promise. There are many facets to life, people never really think about. I am here to hopefully give a voice in this new club of being minus one kid here in this atmosphere. That tragic day, with a cold, callous stepdad with the words “Brandon’s dead”, to his mom2 of the exact time period of 17 years, 9-28-2018 was the worst day ever in my life and 17 years of being together with his dad. A bittersweet day I wished never had existed. Don't be too harsh on me, I am from Texas, and I haven't written in quite a while.
By Alexis Chrisan6 years ago in Families
The Children Who Inspire
When I think about the women who have inspired me in my life, I find that I am confronted by a mental list that is broader than it is long. It is hard to place those that lead in a linear field: their influence is one which has as much breadth as depth.
By Dorothy Henderosn6 years ago in Families
With Love
03/10/2020 With Love My wonderful mother, grandmother and artist, Constance Genevieve Brown Koefoed, died on December 29, 2019 as I was feeding her a spoon full of soap in the hospital. She was ninety-six and full of vitality right up to the last six months of her life. Having lost “the other gal in my life”, my daughter Christina Gabriella Milagro Koefoed, almost ten years earlier on February 15, 2009 at the tender age of twenty-two; I find the grief to sometimes be intolerable. Having your only child taken away from you too soon and now your mother, the next most important person in your life for so many wonderful years, challenges your will to keep on going. They were so simpatico and drew together for hours with love, their hands never leaving the sketching pad. When I was angry, my young daughter use to say “Dad, take a chill pill!”. Like her grandmother she already knew life was to be lived with love and not anger. And “Grandmama Connie” was there for all her grandchildren with love. She taught me the world was a better place if you lived your life with no regrets, realizing always that “less is more”. It was her mantra and I believe the best explanation for the reason why she lived such a long and fruitful life. By never saying anything bad about someone was her way of acknowledging everyone and accepting everyone with love. In a deeper sense being a natural artist with the pen, pencil or even the brush made Mom understand human nature better than most of us. Her art evolved in many directions but always came back to simply admiring humanity. This positive affirmation of life with love had to rub off on someone close to her and it did. On me. She always reminded me that everything comes from something. Like the deep love you have for someone comes from having grown up with love. There is spirituality within all of us. We are all like buds in a garden called life, waiting to be nurtured and caressed with love as our buds become flowers among a garden full of variety. I suspect my mother was the flower in that garden that was always a little bit different. No wonder my mother always surrounded herself with plants and flowers. She was that five year girl who drew wedding dresses on toilet paper because art was so personal to her. She was that thirteen year old tom boy who blooded a fellow male student for bullying her sister. And she was that twenty one year old art student during World War II, who was told by the dean that she would be “uncomfortable” dancing with soldiers from around the world, because of the color of her skin. I can only imagine she was the biggest flirt at that USO canteen, saying later “the tall Texans and Aussies were my favorites.” And yes she was on a roll by marrying a Dane in 1950 in America with love, where states like Virginia still made interracial love unlawful. This was a young woman who was deeply loved by both her parents. They taught her with love to follow her passions and dreams no matter where they would lead. When she became the mother of two boys they were hers with love forever. When someone roughed up my baby brother for innocently wiping snow off of his car, Mom tracked the man down and got an apology. When the public school system was failing, Mom found a better education for her “boys” with love. She sent the both of us to a private school. And paid for it as a single mother by holding down three jobs at once. We did not disappoint. Both of us attended Ivy League schools thanks to Mom with love. And when it was the early seventies and America was in turmoil after the challenging sixties, I attended my first antiwar demonstration with my girlfriend in Washington, DC in 1972. And of course with my Mom. She never lost sight of mankind’s suffering and gave to charities with love. The watercolor she created from experiencing that demonstration she named “DC PROTEST, 1972”. It was abstract and drawn with muted tones and shadows, suggesting conflict. But you cannot live to be ninety-six years of age and be full of hate and anger. Her last words to me were “Where do you think you are going?” Nowhere Mom, where you are not going. Only with love can you conquer all. And yes Mom you taught me that.
By Christopher Koefoed6 years ago in Families
