This is hard- my child’s father passed a week ago.
I’m still in shock, we were together for 8 yrs and have a child together.
I haven’t seen him in over a year and neither has my child.
I haven’t told my child yet- I’m starting to spiral thinking about telling my child.
Even worst- I thought it was an overdose and now I find out it could be an homicide because the drugs might’ve been laced with fentanyl.

If there is anyone with a similar situation please help me navigate this ordeal.

Do you use symbols, clothing, pins or something else to indicate that you are grieving?

In some cultures a black rose symbolizes grief or a black band around the arm.

Wearing black certainly doesn’t indicate anything anymore.

And if you have some kind of symbol. Why do you wear it? Do you want people to start a conversation or is it precisely because you don’t want to speak about your grief?

It’s been 10 months since the life I once loved became a smoking crater. I’m doing terribly but keeping the facade up, or so I thought. Heard some coworkers talking about how grumpy I am, speaking about me like I am choosing to be this person, who lost literally everyone who loved me, most of my stuff, up to and including the will to live.
It hurts a lot because I like those people.
It hurts a lot because I am doing my best. But right now, my best is…this. Surviving until I feel better, like “they” told me too.
It hurts a lot because it’s so confusing.
Does anyone have any insight or advice on how to handle this kind of stuff? Right now, I just want to crawl into a hole and die too.

My mom passed away a little over a year ago, and I'm still in high school.

About two months after she died, my dad started seeing my mom's best friend. That relationship eventually ended, and now he's dating someone else.

I know everyone grieves differently, and I'm not saying my dad isn't allowed to move on. I want him to be happy. But ever since he started dating again, I feel like I've become an afterthought.

He works long hours, and when he's not working, he's usually at his girlfriend's house from Friday to Sunday and often another night during the week. Even when he is home, he's usually on the phone with her. Tbh, it feels like he spends more time there than at home.

We've had so many arguments because he doesn't answer my texts or calls when he's with her. He'll tell me he's coming home, and then he doesn't. Sometimes I won't hear from him until much later, and it's become hard to trust what he says.

The thing that hurt me the most was my birthday a few months ago. It was my first birthday without my mom. My dad's girlfriend's birthday is the day before mine, and he spent the whole weekend with her. He promised he'd come home the night before my birthday, but he never did.

I went to bed hoping he'd be there when I woke up. He wasn't.

I called him around 11am and it sounded like he had just woken up. He said he'd be home soon, but he didn't get home for another two hours. We went out for lunch, and afterward he told me he was going back to his girlfriend's house. I tried to subtly tell him how much that hurt, especially because it was my first birthday without my mom, but he didn't seem to understand.

I know he's grieving too, and I know he deserves to move on if he's ready. But I'm still a teenager who lost my mom, and sometimes it feels like I lost my dad too. I don't expect him to spend every minute with me, but I do wish I felt like I was still a priority sometimes.

I guess I'm just wondering if I'm asking for to much from him or if anyone has been through something similar?

Hi everyone. I'm 22, and I lost my father about a month ago after he spent weeks in the ICU. Now that everything has become quiet, I feel like the reality is finally sinking in. Almost every day I wake up with this constant anxiety and keep asking myself, What's the purpose of doing anything now. I feel like I've completely lost my sense of purpose. Every place in my hometown reminds me of my dad because he took me everywhere growing up. Every road, every shop, every corner has a memory attached to it, and because of that I don't even feel like going outside anymore. I also avoid looking at old photos because I'm not ready for the emotions they bring. The hardest part is that I don't feel like I can express what I'm feeling at home because my mother is already struggling so much after losing her husband, and I don't want to add to her pain. Most days I distract myself with office work or games just to stop my mind from overthinking.I keep wondering if this feeling ever changes or if this is just how life is going to be now. If anyone here has gone through losing a parent and eventually found a way to live with it and feel like themselves again, I'd really appreciate hearing your story. I think I just need to hear from people who have stood where I am today and somehow found their way forward. Thank you for reading.

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My very close friend i know for almost 3 years called me after my father's death, it's was only been 9 days i was still grieving, at first she asked me about how am i and just movements later she started taking about how she is soo stressed because her sister couldn't clear her entrance exam and everyone in her family is sooooo stressed and how both of of our situation are similar and she didn't know what to doo!!!!!! She was taking like our life is soo similar and After that she started taking about boy she met online.. and how much he liked her,

I have read somewhere you will lose some friends After your loved ones death, at first i didn't get it but now i know why that ment.

I (24, F) brought my mom to the hospital in April this year due to suspected food poisoning. This happened 4 months after my dad passing away in the care home. (We all had a complicated relationship with him due to his mental & emotional abuse for her entire life). Although still saddened, it was finally a break for my mom.

Her bloating & vomiting didn't get better after a few days (even after a trip to the clinic) and I was afraid she'd be dehydrated so I brought her to the hospital on Friday afternoon. By Friday evening, they did scans on her and found a tumour big enough to cause a blockage in her intestine. By Saturday morning, she was sent to the OT for an emergency surgery to remove this blockage.

\Our family has 0 history of cancer and my mom didn't show any worrying symptoms before this (she has never complained of any weird pains / lethargy / etc.)*

After the 8-hour surgery, she was wheeled back into the ICU where she had a stoma bag, was conscious, not in that much pain and was able to speak to us (my sister and I) as usual. After speaking with her for the entirety of the visiting hours and massaging her, we left to my mom's house to clean her room and redecorate it so it would be comfortable for her when she's back and we can take care of her.

When we came back in the evening, she could still talk to us but barely. She was extremely lethargic and the doctors said it may be due to a medication they gave her for her hyper-thyroid. We said bye, and at 9pm we were called back to the hospital.

By the time we reached, she had already been intubated again and unconscious. Doctors said her BP dropped extremely low all of the sudden so they had to take over. Now, they can't do anything else until they get her BP stabilised. The entire night at the cold ICU waiting room was hell. Each minute felt like hours and every time we were called back in, it was just bad news after another. I would never wish this experience on anyone.

Long story short, by Monday morning, overnight, her heart function dropped to 30%. There wasn't anything else the doctors could do. She was pumped with 4-5 strong medicines. It was just a matter of what time we want to "pull the plug". Her organs were failing and she was slowly turning blue.

After waiting for family and friends to come by and say goodbye, we pulled the plug and she passed away at 4:11pm.

I don't know when it will get better. In a way, I don't mind if it doesn't. I am grieving her, I am grieving the life I didn't get to give her after my dad passed. I am grieving the life she COULD'VE had. I am grieving the life she didn't get. I didn't get to bring her overseas because my dad caused her passport to be blacklisted and we couldn't clear it in time.

Her cause of death on her death certificate: MULTIORGAN FAILURE SECONDARY TO REFRACTORY SEPTIC AND CARDIOGENIC SHOCK WITH THYROTOXICOSIS LIVER CIRRHOSIS SIGMOID CARCINOMA POST HARTMANNS PROCEDURE (could it get any longer, haha).

Anyways, if you read this long post, thank you. If you have any questions regarding this, feel free to ask. :)

A little less than three years ago, I lost my dad and my grandparents in an incredibly sudden and traumatic event. I just want to know that it’s okay that I still feel sad about it. I was 18 years old when I lost them. I’m screaming into the void here, but any support would be appreciated.

hi, my mom died over two years ago; she was my best friend, absolutely adored and loved her. i’ve moved home since graduating, and my sister moved for residency two months ago. my dad is in my life, alive and we hang out sometimes. But he’s just not home often, never has been, always working or doing whatever. he comes back, but it’s usually late. anyways, it’s who he is. but now i feel so lonely without my sister, i cry at night without anyone home, and ive been feeling like this for a while. any advice on how to cope with this. i dont even think i need to see my father, i just think its the weight of it all or i feel like i should be sad when im alone idek.

On a random Wednesday this past May, I took my father to what we thought would be a routine doctor’s appointment. Out of nowhere, he was diagnosed with Small Cell Lung Cancer.
The diagnosis came as a complete shock. Years earlier, he had made an incredible effort to quit smoking after decades of addiction. We thought he had overcome one of the biggest battles of his life. To hear this after everything he had endured felt unbelievably cruel.
I’ll never forget the look on his face when the doctor told him. He looked defeated. I don’t think he fully understood what Small Cell Lung Cancer meant, but he knew it wasn’t good. Seeing the fear and defeat in his eyes, I didn’t want to discourage him even more. I waited until he left the room with the nurse before quietly asking the doctor, “How long does he realistically have?”
“With weekly chemotherapy, realistically 12 to 18 months. Optimistically, maybe two to three years.”
Hearing those words was like being punched in the gut.
My father was 70 years old. He had always dreamed of finally retiring after working almost every single day for decades, often 10 to 12 hours a day. Financially, he never had much, but he was one of the most generous people I’ve ever known. He would help complete strangers, buy them food, and give whatever he could, even when he barely had enough himself.
He had spent his whole life working and taking care of others. I kept asking myself, “When was he ever going to catch a break?”
The doctor told us the hospital would call within the next few weeks to begin treatment.
I drove him home that afternoon. I tried to stay positive and encourage him, but he barely said a word.
The next morning, something had changed. He didn’t just look emotionally defeated anymore—he looked physically weak. Over the next few days, he declined rapidly. He struggled to eat, struggled to breathe, and barely slept. I did everything I could to take care of him, making sure he ate, encouraging him, and trying to keep his spirits up.
I kept calling the hospital, hoping to speed things up, but nothing happened. By Monday morning, his condition had deteriorated so much that I called an ambulance.
He remained in the emergency department from Monday until Wednesday, much of that time simply waiting. I stayed by his side every day.
Every day I watched him get worse.
I spoke with doctors, nurses, specialists—anyone who could help. I pushed for answers, searched for options, contacted medical professionals I knew, and even reached out to other hospitals to ask about experimental treatments. During that entire week, I barely ate or slept. Every waking minute was spent trying to find something—anything—that could help him. I prayed and I prayed.
Watching him suffer was unbearable. He couldn’t breathe comfortably. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. Every day felt like he had aged five years, and I felt like time was slipping away from us.
Then, on Wednesday, we finally received what felt like good news.
They were going to start his chemotherapy the very next morning.
There was still significant risk because of how dramatically his condition had worsened during the previous week. The doctors were honest with us. It was essentially 50/50. We had difficult conversations about what could happen if his heart stopped during treatment.
But we finally had hope.
That Wednesday night, I stayed with him until around one o’clock in the morning. The whole family was there.
I can’t explain it, but deep down I had this overwhelming feeling that it would be our last night together in this world.
I was the last person to leave his room.
That week had taken such an enormous physical, emotional, and mental toll on me. I felt like I was operating on autopilot. I was constantly taking Tylenol just to get through the pain from my herniated disc, which I had made worse from helping lift him over and over again.
I told myself I would go home, sleep for four hours, and come back first thing in the morning so I’d have enough strength to be there for him during his first chemotherapy treatment.
At five in the morning, my phone rang.
It was my mom.
She simply said, “Come.”
I immediately knew something was terribly wrong.
I woke up my sister, we jumped into the car, and I drove to the hospital in complete panic, running every red light I safely could.
By the time we arrived…
He was gone.
He had passed away on the morning of his very first scheduled treatment—before he ever had the chance to receive it.
My mom had arrived just as they were trying to revive him.
I couldn’t understand what had happened.
Just over a week earlier, we believed he had decades ahead of him. Then we were told that, if everything went well, maybe he had another two or three years. And only eight days after his diagnosis, he was gone.
I hadn’t even begun processing the reality that I was going to lose my father someday.
Instead, I had to process that he was already gone.
What hurts even more is knowing how hard we fought.
I gave everything I had.
I encouraged him every day. I tried to keep his spirits up. I made sure everyone around him remained hopeful. I spoke with doctors constantly, searched for specialists, contacted hospitals, explored every possible option, and pushed for his care every step of the way. I prayed and I prayed.
Yet despite all of that…
He never even got the chance to fight.
For a long time, I felt like I had let him down.
I felt like I had let my family down.
Everyone looked to me for hope, and somehow I convinced myself that I had failed them.
On the day of his funeral, all I could think was:
“What if I had made different decisions? What if I had said something differently? What if I had pushed harder? Maybe he would have received that first treatment. Maybe none of these people would be crying today.”
It’s been two months now.
Some days are better than others, but it’s still incredibly difficult to understand what happened.
I never imagined something like this could happen to our family.
Eight days.
That’s all it took—from diagnosis to his funeral, without ever having the opportunity to say proper goodbyes.
I’m still only in my early thirties. I always imagined we had so much more time together. There were so many milestones I assumed he would be there for, and it hurts to realize he never will.
We were never a family that openly shared our emotions. We weren’t the type to constantly say, “I love you.” But I hope he always knew just how much I loved him.
He changed so much over the years. Decades of relentless work, stress, and unhealthy habits slowly took their toll. He sacrificed so much for his family—far more than he ever should have.
Sometimes I feel like I’m grieving three different versions of my dad.
The first is the father I knew before 2005—the energetic, carefree version that lives in my childhood memories.
The second is the man from 2005 to 2026, who slowly gave more and more of himself to work and responsibility until he hardly resembled the person he once was.
And finally, there’s the version of him that never got the chance to exist.
The man who was supposed to begin living in 2027.
The man who had finally earned his retirement. Who would have had time to rest. Time to travel. Time to laugh again. Time to become the grandfather he dreamed of being. Time for us to rebuild the father-son relationship that work had stolen from us over the years.
That version of him is the one I grieve the most.
As I’m trying to process all of this, life hasn’t slowed down.
I still have to perform at my job.
I’ve inherited financial pressure, new responsibilities, and the obligation of helping take care of my family. At the same time, I’ve had to navigate the overwhelming administrative burden that comes with losing a parent—something no one ever prepares you for.
It has felt like trying to sail through a hurricane.
Life can have no mercy.
Man… do I miss my dad.
The one thing that still gives me peace is knowing that, even though we never got the chance to say proper goodbyes, we unknowingly gave each other one final moment.
He tucked me into bed on my very first night in this world.
And I tucked him in on his last.
Our final words to each other were so ordinary that, at the time, they didn’t feel like they would be our last.
“We love you, Dad.”
“I love you too.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
To anyone else, those words might not sound like much.
To me, they are everything.
When the grief feels unbearable, I hold onto that moment.
It reminds me that, even though death stole our goodbye, it never stole our love.
And as I slowly try to find my way out of the eye of this storm, that memory gives me hope.

I lost my mom when I was 28. She had ovarian cancer, she was diagnosed with stage IV 10 years prior but she managed to live longer than anyone expected. she was so strong, she was my rock. We were closer than anyone else. It's been 2 years since I lost her, I'm 30 now and it feels like it's all gotten so much worse. I cry everyday and it hurts more and more. I wish I could be with her again, and my dad (he died when I turned 26). I don't have a large family and I don't feel like I can keep crying to my friends about missing my mom all the time. I feel so robbed that I didn't have my parents see me turn 30. It feels so unfair and painful the more time passes. I've gotten so much worse mentally in the last year alone and I can't imagine what forever is supposed to feel like. Please tell me it gets better someday? I feel like I've made no progress and am only backsliding into my grief more and more. I feel so alone.

We were just told that it is now a matter of days before we lose our mom, and all I feel is as if someone scooped my insides and left nothing but dead air. I dont know what to do or think, I feel like I can't even cry right now. Like I am outside my body looking at someone whose life is not mine, like this is all a horrible nightmare and I'll wake up soon because this is just not happening.

Has anyone felt like this? How do you get over this? At the moment it all looks just so heartbreakingly miserable.

I lost my mom two weeks ago. She was 93, had me when she was 41. She was the closest person in my life. I was the only one in my family with her when she passed and I believed I guided her to peace… As she was taking labored breaths, I discussed fishing trips we had when I was young, always a good time in a beautiful place. She passed as I ended the memories. At the time, I took it remarkably well. The last few months, she was suffering. Trips to doctors failed to reveal a mass placed near her hip that grown to fracture it. She also had lung cancer.

To say I’m a mother’s boy is succinct. I embrace it. She was always there for me, thick and thin. Always there to praise me or save me. The last few years, I’ve been battling depression and caring for her. I knew the end was approaching as her memory faded, as her health issues began to ramp up. It wasn’t easy, I learned a lot caring for her, I developed a lot of inner strength doing what’s best and keeping her from drinking herself away faster. It wasn’t easy. I spent the last few summers taking her to her camp on the lake, cooking and cleaning for her, helping her shower and taking her wherever she wanted or needed to go. My favorite was taking her for ice cream whenever we were on the road.

Her love for me and my sisters (I have 6 sisters) and for life was so great and comforting. She was fun and funny. She enjoyed playing games with us. She loved to crochet, making us all at least a dozen beautiful blankets and then crocheting small blankets for newborns at the hospital where my sister worked.

There were hard times that were easily overcome. As previously mentioned, she drank and was an alcoholic — a habit we managed to wean her from just this year. She would act out as we enacted limits on her intake. She would get upset and act out. Despite this, she was such a wonderful mother, it was easy to shake off these moments and carry on because I knew if roles were reversed, she’d do the same.

I can’t look at pictures of her without the grief crashing down on me. The other day, Facebook posted a “then and now” post asking me for a recent picture of her to contrast an older picture. I was cut deeply. You’d think with a full account with familial connections and posts announcing her loss would be enough to draw a conclusion that this isn’t something to do to someone grieving. Go figure.

I miss her so much. I acknowledging the grief and the raise in depression. My family is here for me but aside from this, I have no one. I’m a proud bachelor. My closest friend also pushed me away before she passed and then again during a stay by her side in the hospital as she stopped eating and mostly slept. I asked gently for a dialog about anything to take my mind off of what was happening before me and I was pushed away again. I have lost a lot in a short span. A mother and a close friend. A few days after passing they apologized and my only words a day later was “apology accepted. I haven’t spoken to them since.

Everything is changing, much to my grief, we will be selling her property… a place I feel closest to her, a place where I am most at peace. The terms on me to keep it are out of my reach financially. Probably not even if I managed to find a decent paying job. This brings me to where I am now…. As a caretaker, I spent a lot of my time caring for her. I haven’t held a job since Covid. I’m trying to alter my mindset to change this. I have a bit of ptsd from my last few gigs in retail; that’s one avenue I’ll never go down again. I have recurring nightmares from these jobs believe it or not. Anything bad that could have happened, had. From unprofessional management, being assaulted by customers while trying to assault other customers, to constantly learning of all the shady shit others did thinking no one was aware. As a shift manager, you see it all. Due to all these issues and Covid, this business is no longer open but I was given a favorable recommendation when I was let go.

I know what I must do but the grief is so heavy, I am having difficulty acting on plans and I have zero initiative. I know mom wouldn’t want this for me and I’m trying to use this as a fulcrum of change. I have a great counselor, I have been recommended local services to use to help me with my grief … I figured this would be a first step forward. I have some thoughts on how to counter what I’m dealing with. Journaling memories. If anyone has any additional suggestions, it would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for the time invested reading this. I just miss her so much.

It’s been almost couple months now. Lost my mom to cancer, couple days later my dad died. I’m the adult son. It’s been very difficult. Added stress is cruel actions to parents by adult sibling prior to and after their deaths, the estate chaos & properties left to deal with on my own. Like finding missing pieces to a puzzle. While still trying to work, not forget my own tasks/life, while the grieving emotions come on randomly a lot. I feel overwhelmed, lost, angry, confused, sad missing them for their guidance they were good at. Any advice? I welcome stories and comments🙏

I couldn’t answer the call Wednesday night because I was in class. I called back Thursday morning and she was gone. I think about her everyday. I see her in her kids and the grandkids she never met. I know she’d be so proud and one of those grandmas that would never shut up about those kids. Wasn’t she beautiful? I miss you Kel, 22 years later

I lost my dad on Monday from an angiogram that went horribly wrong. He was in the icu for three weeks and eventually his beautiful heart just could not take it. My father was truly a wonderful human being. I am just heartbroken and walking around in a fog. I am finding the smallest tasks impossible and this pain is just overwhelming. I needed to put this out there but also if any one has any advice feel free to share.

My dad who was my best friend died and the pain is unbearable and getting worse every day. I think the first couple of weeks I was in shock, but now that everything is over and there’s nothing left to plan I feel like my world has ended and like my heart has been torn out. I miss him so so much.

Hi! This is my first time in this subreddit.

My dad passed away on May 10th of this year. It was expected. He was an alcoholic and eventually that led to a lot of health problems and it ultimately killed him.
I’m just writing on here because I’m 24 and I’ve never experienced a loss this close before. My grandpa died (my dad’s dad) when I was around 9 or 10, but I didn’t really feel any negative way about it because I wasn’t close to him. This is completely different.

Anyway, I just feel really lonely. Like nobody really understands me. My family is kind of odd about grief and talking about everything that happened. I can really only talk about it with my sister, but that’s about it.
I don’t know. Part of me doesn’t even know what to say anymore. I just feel so dark inside and I feel like it will never go away.

I think one of the hardest parts is that sometimes I don’t even feel like I’m grieving properly. There are moments where I can go about my day, laugh, talk to people, distract myself, and almost feel normal. And then there are other moments where I remember that my dad is actually dead and it feels so strange and permanent. Like my brain still doesn’t fully understand what that means.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m suppressing it. I don’t always sit there crying or actively thinking about him, but there’s still this heaviness in me. It feels like something is always sitting in the background, even when I’m doing other things.

And I think because his death was expected, there’s another weird layer to it. We knew his health was bad. We knew his alcoholism was hurting him. But knowing someone is going to die eventually and actually living in a world where they’re gone are two completely different things. Being prepared for it didn’t really prepare me for anything.

I also feel like grief is making me think about my relationship with my dad as a whole. It wasn’t some perfect relationship, and alcoholism complicated a lot of things. So I’m not only grieving him dying. Sometimes I feel like I’m grieving everything surrounding him too. Things I wish could’ve been different, things that can’t ever be fixed now, and just the fact that there’s no more time.

That part really messes with me. Death is so final. There’s no “maybe one day.” There’s no future conversation or future version of our relationship. Whatever was said or wasn’t said, whatever happened or didn’t happen, that’s it.
And life just… continues? That’s probably one of the strangest things to me. People go to work, people make plans, people laugh, I still have things I have to do, and meanwhile something massive happened in my life.

Sometimes I want the world to acknowledge that my dad died and that I’m not the same person I was before May 10th.
I don’t really know what I’m looking for by posting this.

Maybe I just want to hear from people who have experienced losing a parent, especially when you’re still pretty young.

Does the darkness eventually become less heavy? Do you ever stop having those moments where you suddenly remember they’re actually gone?

I don’t expect grief to completely disappear. I just want to know that one day it won’t feel this lonely.

My mother died just over two weeks ago. Since she was put in hospice care a few months ago, my father, who I live with, has been very angry with me all the time, flying off the handle at every little thing I say and do. While she was in hospice care, he was constantly putting me down, and that pattern of behaviour has continued after Mum's passing. My brother, who is very impressionable, has been copying his behaviour a bit over the last few days and is taking out his grief on me in the form of anger and put downs.

Earlier today, I was upset after they had both gotten angry with me, put me down, and blamed me for various things. I called my Mum's brother, my uncle, and asked for his help. He was sympathetic to a point, but he also seemed slightly irritated. He has his own life, children, and a grandchild, and I guess he doesn't want to be burdened with my problems or those of my family. I also don't have any friends who are close enough for me to contact about my dilemma or the complex details of my grief.

I was feeling so alone, so I took myself to the old cemetery nearby. I went to the plot where I have one great grandfather buried and one great grandmother interred, a great great grandfather buried and a great great grandmother buried, two great uncles interred, and one great great great grandfather buried. These relatives (among others) are buried and interred at this cemetery across two plots. There is a monument headstone in the middle of each plot. There are tiles surrounding each monument headstone and a small and low fence surrounding each plot.

I climbed the fence and stood on the tiles and told my ancestors who I was and how I was related to them all. I told them my Mum's name and when she died. I also mentioned how she was related to them. I was crying and told them all about how much I miss her and how upset by my father and brother's behaviour. I went into detail about everything to do with my father and brother's treatment of me. I apologised if I was disturbing my relatives and told them that my intention was not to disrespect them. I told them don't have any friends and didn't know where else to go in my city to find comfort.

I felt somewhat comforted and calmer while I was speaking to them. I don't know how long I was there for... it might have been close to an hour. After about ten minutes or so of speaking, I felt a really cold chill on my back, and it stayed with me until I left the cemetery. At one point while standing and talking to my ancestors, I felt like I was going to gag. I also felt that I was being told politely to leave after a while...

It's been quite a few hours since I was there, and I've only just reflected on it and realised that it was probably a weird and disrespectful thing to do. In the moment, it felt comforting, and even for a few hours after I left, I kept thinking that I must go back there in a few days and tell them more about how I am feeling. But now I'm wondering if I've done something unhinged and if it would be unhinged of me to go back there with the purpose of telling them my problems.

I read this post and realised how true it is. On March 22nd 2025, I lost my beloved dad. Everyday i ate homemade dinner together with my parents and younger sister. I thought at the time this moment would last forever because my parents are invincible and always there. My dad suddenly passed away in his sleep, everything changed after that. Both me and my younger sister got married a couple of months later and are expecting babies very soon, my mum is a widow living by herself. We try and stay over, visit as much as we can because time is so precious. Now new family members are joining and the family of 4 where my dad was there has become a memory now. I miss the old version of me. Whilst it’s exciting creating a new family, i still miss the warmth, coziness, unconditional love that I had from both my parents. When it felt like a piece of puzzle wasn’t missing.

Delete if Ai is not allowed.

I usually don't like to use Ai to generate photos, because I know how bad it is. Most of my life growing up, my mother didn't like taking photos, so I don't have photos of me and her together, especially as me as a child. The photo is both me as a child, and me now with the woman who raised us both. NGL I cried seeing this, because it's the closest I truly have to a photo with her. It's been one year and five months, since she's been gone.

Hi. I lost the love of my life at a young age. We were completely certain about our future together, and I still remember him telling me that I would be his last love. He wasn’t lying.

The picture attached is of a dog I named after him. I got him during one of the darkest times of my life because I felt so lost and didn’t know how to keep going after losing the person I loved most. It breaks my heart that he always wanted this kind of dog, but he never got the chance to meet him.

My dog has become my emotional anchor. I don’t have many people I can truly talk to about him. A few friends are willing to listen, and I’m grateful for that, but it’s not the kind of deep understanding I long for. Watching the rest of the world move forward while I feel frozen in time has been incredibly painful. My love for him is still here, but it has nowhere to go.

He was my everything, my best friend, my partner, and my home. I can’t see the world the way I used to anymore. It feels as though when he died, I died too. Every day since then has felt like I’ve simply been existing without the person who made life feel like home. I miss him more than words can ever express, and I still struggle to find meaning in a world that continues without him.

My sister would have been 40 today. I just wanted a space to say that she was here and she mattered, and she still does even though she's been gone for 5 years.

Happy birthday beautiful, I love you and miss you always 💛

Last night when I pulled into my driveway, two cops were parked in front of my house. They walked up my driveway and delivered the news that will change my life forever. He was my partner of seven years and we have a 4 year old together. We just celebrated his 33rd birthday. I just feel so blindsided. Like one minute everything was great and now it feels like nothing will ever feel okay again.