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 Is Family
What is family to you? To me it isn't always the people of your blood. I grew up believing the man raising me was my father until I was 11yrs old. A girl who was supposed to be my friend got mad and told me she heard our moms talking. Honestly it didn't matter to me that he wasn't my biological dad, because he was my daddy. He had raised me. After my oldest was born he moved to Florida and vanished. A family friend hired someone and had him found after my youngest sister died in a car crash. He came home shortly after that. I won’t lie, I was angry at that point, he left all of us and my youngest sister didn't even see him. I felt like he had betrayed us, betrayed me. But I finally talked with him and told him all this, and he told me why he vanished. Years ago he found out he had lung cancer. He fought a long time, even made it to remission, but when it came back years later it was too much. He didn't have the strength to do chemo or radiation again. My children meet him for the first time then. We made peace and when he became ill the second time and decided no more treatment I was OK with that. I rushed my children to meet their grandfather, and he them. For the first time in forever (we were little kids) our dad had all of his daughters (cause that is all he had) in one room together. It was also the first time my sisters had meet all 4 of my children together. It was a very sad time but also bitter-sweet. My daddy lived a few months more and during that time I spoke to him every day and my sister Crystal stayed with him every day. When it came to the point he couldn't talk any longer, or he was sleeping all the time, Crystal or the nurses would hold the phone to his ear just so I could say I love you daddy and thank you for being my dad. Crystal was the only one with him when he passed she took his last breath into herself.
By Theresa Harrington8 years ago in Families
Surviving Suicide
So it has been precisely one year, three months, and sixteen days since my younger brother hung himself in his apartment on a sunny day in late July. Right now as I start writing this, I am listening to a cover of "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd. I do wish you were here. I think about you every single day. The depression and PTSD I have developed since your death make sure I remember you in the most painful of ways. I remember your voice as I hear it in my head, but it feels like it hits my eardrums like actual sound, I turn to my friend who looks at me questioningly because no one has said anything as I ask "Yah, what?"
By Amethyst Pearson8 years ago in Families
An Important Part of My Life - My Brother Lee's Death
On Monday 29th July 2013 I went to the Mencap Summer Scheme with my brother Lee. He had been feeling fine all day until that night when he started to complain about feeling out of breath. He went on the nebuliser to try to normalise his breathing but a few minutes later Lee collapsed. He had suffered an aggressive asthma attack. My dad tried to carry out CPR on Lee while my mum called an ambulance. Once it arrived the paramedics took over from my Dad and Lee was sent to Antrim Area Hospital.
By Eoin Campbell8 years ago in Families
Blue Jay
The road to the Children's Hospital in Sioux Falls, South Dakota seemed like it went on for an eternity. I was four, and I could not grasp the significance of what was happening. Although I do not remember everything, I know it was the end of 2002 or the beginning of 2003. The adults would only tell me that Jay was sick, so I did not understand why this was such a big deal to everyone. The hospital was tremendous and was filled with many different rooms. The ceilings towered high above me. Years later, it felt strange going back to the Children's Hospital and realizing how small it actually is. That day, we were going to visit my 10-year-old cousin.
By Almárëa Laurësil8 years ago in Families
Light
September 3, 2017 The Initiative. July 24, 1987 I had turned 9 nearly two months prior and as I held a balloon that my mom had given me earlier that day during the parade, I sat on the side of the hill at Liberty Park awaiting the fireworks that were scheduled to start in the next few minutes.
By Wendy Finau8 years ago in Families
Letters from Yesterday
Under my bed, there is a box. Though most people have boxes under their beds, those boxes usually have forgotten toys, clothing, or other unimportant articles which would be just as well in the trash as they are under the bed. But the box under my bed is filled with some of the most important things to me. When opened, one will find colorful cards for about every occasion inside. Most people wouldn’t think twice about those cards. They are just pieces of paper with forced greetings on the front and a short "personal" message inside. For most, those things would be easily thrown away shortly after being received, but the cards within this box hold the most important thing in the world to me. The words of a father I never got the chance to grow up with.
By Zephryna Lunatari8 years ago in Families
