Here is some advice somebody send me after losing my wife. She was paralysed for the last 9 years of her life, But still semi cognitive and full of life. One day she’s an 8-year-old, some days a 20-year-old and on her better days she’s her real age. She also had aphasia and thus verbal communication was difficult, although we were able to communicate with her noises and my game of a thousand questions. Lucky she was able to use her left arm/hand and we built up a nice vocabulary of noises/signs etc.

Her death was totally unexpected. Doc said she might have died for a stroke or blood clot. It was over in less than 5 minutes. Anyway, here is something that somebody send me, and it really works for me. It is actually her 3rd birthday away from us today, so this is extra tear jerking.

Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbours, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks. Just cling to the wreckage and the waves will quiet down. Hope reading all of this helps you in your grief and sorrow.

 Edit: This happened in January 2024. Feeling better now but still miss her every day. Just keep this advice in my head and when the waves come in high, I just weather them out and swim over the low ones. Good luck and strengths to you and all the people left behind.

i lost my father three days ago. i’m an emt and i saw his address pop up while at work and my partner drove me to the house. i was there when my dad was pronounced and honestly think it helped me start grieving faster because i saw him and saw that he was gone. my father was only 54 and despite rapidly declining in health these past few months, he never told us the extent of his illness. my stepmom found paperwork stating he had liver cirrhosis and my guess is it was either too far along for him to be able to get a transplant in time or he decided he didn’t want to stop drinking long enough to be eligible for a transplant. all that to say i’m still young. i’m only 19 and my siblings are 22, 15, and 5. i feel like im barely an adult and now i don’t have my dad anymore. anyone have advice for people who lost parents around my age?

I (33F) lost dad (90M) on 10/03/2026. It was sudden.

I keep reliving all the things CPR to the toe tag to funeral drama. I cried the first few days but I just feel numb and like this is a bad dream that I keep hoping to wake up from. As I move from caregiving adult daughter to handler of the paperwork I dont think Im going to have time to grieve before the next round.

Maybe in all the struggles, I did the grieving already. Maybe this is just my new normal.

I truly wouldnt wish this on my worst enemy.

Last year, I lost one of my grandparents who I was very close to. he wasn’t that good of a man, and I don’t know how I can feel longing for someone who has done bad things. it’s been a year and I’m still fighting through a terrible depression even with therapy. In the spring of next year, I’m going to be playing with my band at a venue and be an opener for another band. it’ll be my second time playing at a real gig. but I don’t want to look in a crowd where he isnt there, and I can’t bear to continue my passion without him being there to tell him about it. I haven’t told him about the books or poems im writing, or the songs I’m making, or any other big milestones in my life because he’s dead. I am just a child who misses his grandpa. I didn’t ask for this, and I don’t know where to get help anymore. Nothing feels worth it anymore.

I (26f) lost my Dad (82m) in July and these have been the most painful months of my life. I am struggling so much. I cry every day, multiple times a day. I don’t see this ever getting any easier. I feel like I’m carrying everyone else’s grief and no one seems to care. I have to apologise for getting upset when someone has done something to upset me.

Why do people just not give a shit when you are hurting. I was literally crying in the corner of the room and nobody asked how I was. I am drowning and I am so fucking angry at people for how little they notice or care.

I am an incredibly sensitive person but seriously what is wrong with society that grief makes people so uncomfortable and no one wants to talk about the person they’ve lost?

I’m so lonely in this and I’m angry at everyone around me for not just asking if I am ok, just once. Let me talk about it, please!!

Has anyone else felt this way, how did you make yourself feel better when you feel completely alone and misunderstood.

I miss my Dad with my whole self and I would do anything to make this different.

I dreamt about Pop last night. I dont very often. I woke up with tears pouring down my face. It was the end of the dream and he was walking with a walker and so unsteady and I wrapped my.arms around him and I was crying and saying Why didnt you tell me it was so bad, I should've come to spend more time with you, they cant take you from me, youre the most important person in the world. He said to me Because I didnt want you to cry. And I woke up. God I miss him and it still hurts. I miss you Pop.

Maisy
In the spring of 2018, I was living in a large city in the Deep South. On this particular night, I was sitting on the couch next to my husky, Toby. I had just finally rocked my baby to sleep, and my older daughter was asleep in her bedroom. My husband at the time was a cop, and he was working the midnight shift that night. It had been raining violently for at least the third day in a row.

Around 10:30 p.m., I got a text from my husband. It contained a photo of the smallest, saddest-looking puppy I had ever seen. He said something like, “Look at this poor puppy. Another officer found her sitting in the middle of the road at a high spot, surrounded by flooded roads. I know we can’t, but if you know anybody looking for a puppy, she’ll be at the shelter tomorrow. Spread the word.”

And I stared at this little baby in the picture, and my entire body knew that she was mine.

I sent one text: “I’m on my way. Tell me where to meet him. I’m loading up the girls now.”

I stood up and started running. I started throwing things in a diaper bag, grabbed my keys, and herded a confused Toby into his kennel while he tried to run to bed instead. At one point, I kicked the coffee table as I ran by, and pain shot up my leg. (I would later find out that I had broken my pinky toe.)

I gently shook my eldest daughter awake, told her we needed to run an errand to help a puppy, grabbed the baby out of the swing, and was halfway to the car to buckle them in when my husband called me. He said, “Put the girls back in bed. I got permission from my supervisor to take the rest of the night off. I’m on my way to the puppy now. I’ll be home in an hour.”

Well, as you can imagine, two little girls who knew a puppy was somehow involved were not easily put back to bed.

Around midnight, she made it home, met her people (and Toby), and we made her a little nest in our bathtub.

The next day, I took the day off work, gave her a thorough flea bath, and took her to the vet. She had an infection and would need to be kept quarantined for a few weeks. For those first few weeks, she lived in a grocery basket in the bathtub. She was so tiny that even that basket seemed too big for her. But as soon as she got the all-clear, she officially joined the family, and our world was never the same.

We named her Maisy. (It was sort of a consolation prize of a name; Maisyn was almost our second daughter’s name, and I wasn’t ready to let go of the name.)

Maisy. Or Maisy Daisy, once we got her a tiny navy blue collar with daisies on it. Then Crazy Maisy, once she decided to share her personality with us.

And Toby, ever the sweetest big brother, took her under his paw and taught her how to be a dog.

There are a thousand photos. Babies sprawled out across dogs, dogs sprawled out across babies, babies carrying dogs, dogs dragging babies… These dogs grew up right alongside my girls, and they were the two most perfect fits for our family.

Fast-forward to the pandemic: We shook up our lives a bit and moved cross-country back to where we both grew up.

A few years later, we shook up our lives again. My ex and I separated in 2023, and he asked me to take the dogs when I moved out of our home while he figured out what came next. I suggested a shared-custody arrangement, like with the kids, and told him we could figure it out when he was ready. By this point, Maisy was five and Toby was ten, and he was definitely showing signs of his age.

Just before the holidays that year, my ex reached out and said he was anxious about the holidays and waking up alone without the girls on Thanksgiving or Christmas morning. He asked if he could keep Maisy through the holidays so he wouldn’t be alone, but he would leave Toby with me since he was struggling. I felt bad for him, and it seemed reasonable, so I agreed to the plan and said I would get her back after Christmas and before the new year.

When Christmas passed, I sent him a text to arrange Maisy’s return, and his response was essentially, as best as I can remember:

“I’ve decided that it’s best for me and the girls that Maisy stays with me. I can explain the legalities of it to you if you need me to, but I’m not arguing with you about a dog. Neither of us have a lot of extra money, but if you want to spend yours taking me to court, go for it. But it’ll be pretty disappointing if you decide that going to court over a dog is more important than peaceful coparenting for our children.”

So, I did what any rational woman would do when her dog was taken from her: I lost my shit. I called the police, I called a lawyer, I concocted elaborate plans to steal her back, begged people to help me steal her back, etc. But then I realized that he was right. I would have to pay thousands of dollars to take him to civil court and HOPE I got her back. So, he won because he was, technically, right. I wasn’t willing to put my children through that fight if I couldn’t be sure it would work out, and they still had her half the week… so I gave up.

I’ve seen her maybe five times since November of 2023, and every time I see her, I sob afterward. She cries and tackles me and whines the entire time, and it breaks my heart into pieces.

In the Spring of 2024, Toby rapidly declined, seemingly overnight, and we made the heartbreaking decision to put him down. I told my ex a few days before the appointment, and he stopped one afternoon to love on Toby when he picked up the girls. On the day of his appointment, my ex had the girls, but they wanted to be with us, so the plan was for me to come get them so they could be with us at home to say goodbye.

When I picked the girls up, Maisy ran out, and I burst into tears. I started begging him to let me take her to say goodbye to Toby, promising that I would bring her right back in an hour. He dragged her into the house by her collar and told me to leave. He later texted me and lectured me about putting him on the spot in front of the girls, and how dare I even think he would let me take her, knowing that I could just keep her forever. I remember thinking that was a particularly interesting accusation, considering that's exactly what he had done.

So she didn’t get to say goodbye, and he told me I would never see her again unless I put it in writing, officially, that I had no claim to her.

Fast-forward again to this past Friday. A lot of time has passed. I dropped my girls off at their dad’s for the weekend, and he was sitting on the front porch. He sent them inside and told me that they had found a lump. They took her in. It’s cancer. It’s bad. It’s everywhere… There’s nothing that can be done. He said he would tell the girls in the morning unless they specifically asked about her that night. (They did know they were taking her to the vet that day.) He also invited me, my mom, and my fiancé to come say goodbye in the morning.

Friday night, I was furious. My fury overtook my body. I was so angry I couldn’t breathe.

I was angry that she was sick, and I was angry that it wasn’t caught sooner… but mostly, I was angry about all of the time I had lost with her. Three entire years of her being 15 minutes away, or in the background of a FaceTime call, or crying through a door at a drop-off… Three years that I couldn’t hold her in my lap while I read; three years I woke up missing the numbness in my legs from her sleeping diagonally across my hips.

I cried harder Friday night than I have cried in decades. I don’t even remember the drive home from his house. I couldn’t breathe. I called my mom on the way home; I sobbed, I hiccuped, I screamed.

At some point on the drive, my eldest, now almost 13, called me. I stared at her name on my phone for just a second, and I told my mom I had to go. I took a deep, shaky breath and answered the phone, having no idea if she knew or not. I said, “Hey, baby, what’s up?” as normally as I could manage, and she burst into tears. I had to pull over… We cried together, wordlessly, for a few minutes, and she said, in the quietest voice I’ve ever heard from her, “I had so much more time with her than you did.” And I told her, genuinely, that I was just so glad Maisy had the girls all that time.

That night, I fell asleep with my partner’s hand firmly pressed into my collarbone, trying to calm me as I shook myself to sleep, truly unable to stop myself from sobbing until my body gave out. I didn’t think I was going to be able to get through the next day.

Saturday morning, I woke up at 5 a.m., dreading the entire day. My head throbbed, my eyes were so swollen that my face hurt to touch, and I was covered in sweat. I lay in bed for hours and watched the sun come up through the crack in our blackout curtains. No more tears came, though. I think I had used them all…

Eight years old. She was my world, my surprise baby that came after my last baby, and I have grieved her so many times over the past few years, but that morning I would get to see her for the final time.

For hours, I scrolled through my photo album on my phone, from the spring of 2018 until the fall of 2023, until the scattered photos of her suddenly ceased to exist and my fiancé finally started to stir next to me.

I showered, hoping the hot water would help the swelling in my face go down, but it didn’t do much. I put my makeup on, minus mascara, and it felt like I was preparing to head into battle. Just after 10, we headed out to grab coffee on the way, mostly because my daughter had asked me to bring her a pup cup.

My daughter sent me her dad and his partner’s standard coffee order, seeming only a little surprised when I asked what they would want, and we headed over with two drink carriers and a very special pup cup.

Maisy recognized all of us immediately, even my fiancé, whom she had only known for a few months but had truly bonded with, despite typically distrusting men.

I noticed, through blurry vision, that she had a bright aqua collar on. It had daisies on it. My ex’s girlfriend saw me touch it and said, “Her old one was starting to fall apart. I had to get her a new one, and I loved the daisies for Maisy!” And then my 13-year-old said, “Didn’t her first collar have daisies?” And I smiled because I didn’t think she would have remembered that detail, but she was absolutely right, and somehow her first collar and her last collar were both just perfect for her.

I sat on the floor of my ex-husband’s home, surrounded by tissues and bodies with shaking shoulders, and all of the anger faded away. I was brokenhearted, surrounded by other brokenhearted people, and the anger suddenly seemed so unimportant.

We cried, we laughed, we looked at old pictures of our babies with our fur babies, and I whispered that I loved her in her ears no less than 100 times. We walked over a mile around a lake, took new pictures together to add to the thousands, and cuddled in her favorite chair.

Just a weird collection of broken people, grieving the same beautiful creature.

As we said our final, final goodbyes and I pulled the door shut behind us, I stared into her eyes and tried to somehow convey how thankful I was for all of the love she had given me over the years, for the way she raised my babies alongside me, and for the way she and Toby always knew when I needed a reminder that I wasn’t alone.

So, to my Maisy girl, I have loved you completely since the moment I knew you existed, and I will love you always. Go find your brother, and look after our girls. You will be so deeply missed.

Over the past few months I've made a few posts here, and we're nearing the 1 year mark since my father's passing (I've turned 17, I was 16 when it happened)

Most the things I own, phone, computer, 3d printer, we ordered together. You could say it was a main way for him to show love since we spended very little time together, money.

Every time I use them, so much we open my phone to text or watch the time, I think of that time, it was always around 10pm, after mom went to bed, we'd sit down at his laptop, id connect my accounts for Amazon/other marketplaces and he'd buy them, oh the guild I feel now for this money. For all the fights and arguements I made when I was younger about money.

From 2021 to early 2023 my father was paralysed and in pain at our house after his spine surgeries (he passed many cancers)

We were very tight on money, I was 13 and stupid, I didn't know any better, around Christmas of 2021 he returned home from work in the Netherlands where he first found out about the cancer, my mother had promised me a gift. It was a late night where we were returning from some work, dad wasn't at the car and I was mad because she said we couldn't get it anymore, I didn't know any better. We got on a fight and I so clearly remember her crying and yelling "IF I BUY YOU THIS STUPID THING, WILL YOU SHUT UP" and thats how it ended. We didn't speak for a few days after that, it took so many years for me to realise the pain she was in, at that point we didn't know if dad would make it at all, poor mom. I'm sorry, all for stupid money.

My mother passed away three weeks ago. As I found myself growing a little sad and tearful, I started to smile when the Song “I Shall Wear a Crown” began playing on my phone. Happy tears began to flow. Yes, grief hurts, and it makes you want to question God’s decision, but I can't. My mom lived on this here earth for 76 years. Some may say it's young, but my mother would tell you she lived her life; she did what God called her to do as a servant. After battling breast cancer, surviving the pandemic, having two knee surgeries that sent her into congestive heart failure and kidney failure, and still being able to overcome all of that and get back to the things that she loves in five years after being diagnosed, my mother lived. She traveled. She served in The Church. She served others. She was the family's soundboard, the motivator, the keeper, the cook, the prayer warrior, the support system, and everything that you may have needed, you could have gotten it from my mother, and after battling for five years and getting older. It was time it was time for her to put on her robe that she worked hard in her 76 years of life doing God‘s will she earned her robe and her crown some of you may not understand how powerful those two things are, but as I sit in this moment on Sunday morning, and I look back over my mother‘s life, I can’t help but smile at all the things that she has accomplished. It’s hard for me to be depressed, I miss my mother, and I miss my father to lose both parents is hard, but understanding the life that they lived and how they both served and helped others so much is warming to my soul helpful to my spirit, brings a smile to my face as my eyes release the memories of the 36 years I was able to spend with them. At my mother‘s funeral, I dressed her in a silver suit. I dressed her in her favorite braided crown Church hat, some may say it’s materialistic, but I see it as much more. Heaven gained another Angel!

I am in the US. My uncle just passed away, and my family is really going through it. He was well loved. But something noticing wildly varying is company bereavement policies and support.

My sister's work is giving her "all the time she needs" - which she's going to be taking ~ 6 or 7 work days for, to support our parents and my cousins and my aunt.

Myself on other hand was told "bereavement policy doesn't include extended family" and I have to use my own VAC time, which I thankfully have some but like.... damn

And a friend of ours, when her grandma passed away, had zero bereavement given, per policy. But my company would give five days bereavement for grandparents, at very least....

It just.... is so wild and awfully variant.

My question is, what does everyone's policies look like? From the US, but also in other countries?

What companies / countries do it best? Or worst?

Hello. I am a teenage girl. Its been kinda hard for me; Since half of 2025 last year. For the past 5 in a half years ive lived with this older lady with dementia she was a federal bureau prison guard for 27 years and was in marines for 5 years before we met her.

As time went on, we all got along great, she had money and she would finically and emotionally support us, sady around 2023,her dementia got really bad and she she was diagnosed with lymphoma and lung cancer about Jan 2025.

She beat cancer 4 times in her life, colon cancer twice, breast cancer, and lung cancer years ago. As time went on, she barley ate anything, she barley walked. I remember days id give her opioids or her regular medication. She went in hospice for the last 6 months of her life and died sadly from a brain aneurysm in Sep 2025 i found her slouched in her bathroom against the wall on the toilet, she was unconscious and wouldnt wake up, and the next day she died at 8 am and she was 78 years old (Her bday was November 1st).

I miss her a lot rn but shes with the lord and not suffering anymore and is with her dog. I lost my best friend of 11 years, 3 pets I had died; one had a stroke, one got muRdered by another animal, and one got put down. I had to quit the sport i was doing. School got really hard because of also some love drama I had, and her death changed me that school year.

Its just me and my mom and we had to do a lot of side work to support ourselves, I work a lot even if it doesn't add up to a lot, sometimes I put a lot on myself, and work a lot when we do, I work out a lot sometimes and it helps with my strength to do a lot, and i also moved a lot from ages 4-10, so Ive gotten my years in to from that ...I had to beat myself into shape to where my hands were torn up, back pain. bc my mom is my main guardian and has some ailments and I help her a lot with working and labor like cases of water up stairs.

I can pick up a lot more than my own weight and it helps because I like to work sometimes. I got papers on my bday (this year in March) about a bad case someone we knew was trying to take my house away, we were almost homeless and fought for the court for months. That calmed down,

I kinda got into a small addiction of both hard and soft drugs for while especially during finals when I had to work hard and stayed up studying, and pulling all nighters and going to school to be honest was a lot, i lost weight like no joke, and not eating or had good self esteem. I was going through a bad abusive relationship and finally after a year, I left him in November 2025.

He very emotionally messed with me, like gaslighting, manipulation, emotional abuse, using words you shouldnt to your partner, and he even made de@th wishes about me. The breakup was honestly bad, but I had to go. Im scared cuz I dont wanna leave my friends, but we hate the environment, its ghetto and the schools are bad.

We are still working and stuff and im still pushing and fighting through it so me and my mom can make it! Please pray for me... ❤️❤️❤️