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.
Never Really Goodbye
To be quite frank, time is a bit of a strange concept when it comes to losing a loved one. Especially when they meant the universe to you & to so many others out there in the world. Time becomes irrelevant, days turn into months and so on. What I find most relevant in this circumstance are a few things, gratitude being one of them. Then there is the need to be present in this moment. If there was anything my Mum tried to teach me repeatedly was to be present in this moment, because this moment is all we are ever going to have.
By David Pascoe6 years ago in Families
I Am Penelope
Carrying each strand of thread from one end of the table to the other, I begin warping the loom, wrapping each loop onto the wooden peg. My studio, quiet today, feels less bright somehow—colors of various yarns muted and joyless. Maybe the overcast sky is to blame.
By Emily Wallace 6 years ago in Families
“Mr. Jones & Me”
My name is Adrianna Rose O’Daniel and I am a medium. I was born in 1988 and have felt energies around me all my life. It was not until my younger brother Nick’s suicide in 2014, that I realized what I was experiencing, and ALSO confirmed I was not secretly insane. Nick was 24 when he shot himself, at an age I believe one can feel the most pressure as well as lost. Looking back 6 years ago, I was definitely lost, and way too busy managing a restaurant. Because of Nick’s suicide, I could finally make sense of my synchronicities, my gifts and then learn how to use them to help myself and others. Fortunately my brother loved music and festivals, so a lot of my brother’s messages come from songs, and one song in particular reminds me he is always energetically supporting me. That song is called “Mr. Jones”, by the Counting Crows.
By earth angel rose tarot 11116 years ago in Families
In The First Year After My Brother
Dear Zeke, So it’s been two months and seventeen days since you killed yourself, two months and sixteen days since we found out about it. I’m still pretty mad I think. But overall I’m mostly just numb. Like, I don’t really give a shit anymore; about you, what you did, or about the things in my life in general. I no longer find joy in music or seem to have a passion for writing. And I only just found a book interesting enough to have a real desire to read it. Although one could probably argue that these things were becoming true, if not were already true, long before you killed yourself. Your actions two and a half months ago gave me a reason to respond with when people asked me why I looked sad, lonely, withdrawn or angry. And I don’t know whether to say thank you or fuck you. Thank you for helping me hide my depression, self-harm and poor self-esteem, or fuck you for stealing my thunder. Fuck you for making mom cry and leaving me to hold her together all alone. [Fuck you for making sure no one believes me when I insist that this numbness and anger were present before you killed yourself. That is has always existed in the background of my mind, only coming out to play when my protector is away.]
By Casey SilverRose6 years ago in Families
In The First Year After My Brother
A Eulogy for a Fallen Marine, Son, and Big Brother. This is probably about the thousandth speech I’ve written out and about the millionth I’ve thought up. Writing has never been strictly hard for me, but in this instance it has been nearly impossible. I have been told to write honorably about Zeke, because he’s my big brother, this is his funeral and that’s what funerals are for; to honor the dead and to give closure to the living. The problem is; I don’t feel like honoring Zeke right now. I’m not in that headspace yet. But as a Wordsmith, I am used to playing the acting role at times, putting myself back into the headspace of a past version of me, projecting myself into a future version of me or even attempting to place myself in the mind of another being entirely. So I will try my best to do the right thing and honor my brother with my words today.
By Casey SilverRose6 years ago in Families
Attachment Issues
“What cannot be communicated to the [m]other cannot be communicated to the self.” ― John Bowlby Growing up, I never really had anyone to confide in. No one to sort of cling to. I had parents, but they split up when I was little. My mum was an alcoholic, so I could never really tell her anything. Any time I tried, she was more interested in something else, or she’d get paranoid and my life would be hell for a while. My dad can’t deal with emotions. He’s pretty much a robot. And a lot of the time, I like that, because I hate overly emotional people, but when I need someone, it sucks.
By Rebecca Smith6 years ago in Families
Traci
August 22, 2016, the day that would end up drastically changing my life. It was about 3:17 in the morning when the sounds of sirens from cop cars and ambulances were screaming in the parking lot of the apartment complex. My dad stood there frozen, unable to move or speak. He was in shock. He didn’t know what to do, or how to help, she was just laying there lifeless. Her body was positioned as if she was trying to crawl, pleading for someone to help her, but it was too late. She was already too far gone. The love of his life, and my stepmother, gone at merely twenty eight years old.
By jasmine torrenti6 years ago in Families
Poverty
I received a George Orwell book for Christmas, a slim volume entitled Why I Write (1946) and I read it in a day. I was intrigued by this social -middle class- democrat Orwell who was genuinely interested in and improving the life chances of the poor working class. I’d read Animal Farm (1945) and 1984 (1949) before I was fifteen or sixteen, and perhaps briefly joined the socialist party on the back of that, but I’d not read any of his other works. I immediately down loaded a gratis copy of Down and Out in Paris and London (1933) from the George-Orwell.org website and was blown away even from page one in chapter one by his novel-esque approach to autoethnography.
By Ian Peter Loftus6 years ago in Families
