Previous
Next
YOUR STORY
Menu
Your Stories
I wanted to see my father. He was in the living room. He had died in his comfortable chair, with his feet up on footstool, a glass of whiskey at one hand, and the ashtray in the other. I am glad I saw him as he was, because it made me truly see that my father was gone. It comforted me to see how peaceful he looked..The phone rang at 5 one…
After the funeral my own brothers and sister stopped mentioning Marie’s name. It was as if she never existed. I know that they didn’t want to add to my pain, but their reluctance to talk about her in those early days was puzzling and hurtful. I got a wonderful response when I plucked up the courage to talk to them about this. Now we can get…
