So happy dead white guys are the face of addiction and suicide. Suddenly people are calling suicide an unselfish and even sometimes brave choice and describing the challenges of addiction in a poetic style. Finally we have a face for the struggles of millions. Thanks, white guys.
Timothy Omundson by Maarten de Boer
WOW MNEME FEELING A LITTLE MEAN TODAY I SEE
timothy omundson is looking so majestic in his greybeard age.
I drew this like 3 years ago and I still want to make it a real book
I didn’t know my Granny very well. It took me a long time to realize that. She was a far-away person, and my Granddad too, being so physically distanced from where I grew up. But he was my everything when I was growing up, and I don’t remember why. Maybe because he engaged with me, bought me books and all the postcards were in his writing. He inspired me, I wanted to spend all of my time with him.
My Granny; although she wasn’t a particularly renowned cook (as far as my child-memories go); all my memories of her are about food, or clothing.
I think this is long overdue. Her death was prolonged, and expected, and tears didn’t come. I got a call from my mother at lunch, and went back to work.
And now I’m having a breakdown because I chose to get sorbet for a treat at the store, and it was so good. Granny always had sorbet for dessert when we visited. I think as a child I was grumpy it wasn’t “real” ice cream. But it was so good tonight and all of my thoughts went to her.
I never gave her the goodbye she deserved, or had the strength to do so as she was dying. I feel like there was so much missed, when I realize how close I am to my other Grandmother, and how many details of her life that I know because I asked, and maybe nobody else has.
My older cousins were closer physically and in spirit to her, and I guess we all feel things differently. I’m crying because of regret, mostly, and missed chances and maybe guilt, because the sorbet was so good.
Make Mark find the thing
DANG that’s cute.
My S.O.’s mother passed away last year, and in a little while it will be the one year anniversary of her death. We were together for about five months before it happened, and we’re a fair bit over a year now. I don’t know how to talk to him about it. I didn’t know his mom very well, and he’s not always forthcoming about grief, but it is pretty clear when he’s upset.
His dad wants to spread ashes soon, so we’re probably going to talk about it, but I feel like I have no idea what kind of tone this conversation will take and I’m nervous that I’ll say something stupid.