#grief

#grief

The Hathaways are farmers, in the English county of Warwickshire, with close ties to the land-some would say too close, at least in the case of Agnes, a young woman so eccentrically at one with nature that she is rumored to have been born of a forest witch. The Shakespeares are led by a glover, whose business has seen better days. His eldest son-William, of course, though he is not immediately identified as such-defrays his father's debts by tutoring Agnes's younger brothers in Latin,

Simon and I couldn't be more different. When we met, I was 38, he was 54, and his unabashed zest for life broke through my complicated caution. I knew I was in love when, after a lazy summer evening together, I lay on the stone beside a Trafalgar Square fountain and felt joy seep through my skin. I moved in with him, his rural 15th-century cottage becoming our home, workplace (me in medicine, he in shipping), and where I discovered previously unknown contentment.

I was sitting on my sofa on a Saturday evening when I heard of Catriona's passing, having been in an unexpectedly foul mood earlier that day.

On Dec. 1, Netflix is releasing All The Empty Rooms, a short 33-minute documentary taking viewers inside the bedrooms of children killed in school shootings. No, it's not an easy watch by any means, but it looks like one of those pieces of art that might actually make a difference. On Nov. 14, Netflix released the trailer for All The Empty Rooms, which debuted at the 52nd Telluride Film Festival earlier this year.

The loved ones we call the deaddepart from us and for a whileare absent. And then as ifcalled back by our love, they comenear us again. They enter our dreams.We feel they have been near uswhen we have not thought of them.They are simply here, simply waitingwhile we are distracted amongour obligations. At lastit comes to us: They live nowin the permanent world.We are the absent ones.

Pregnancy after loss is full of contradictions. It is hope that feels cautious, like it might dissolve if you breathe too hard. It is learning to live again inside a body that remembers grief. I am now officially in my third trimester, and each day brings small signs of life: a flutter, a roll, a hiccup, the steady rhythm of his heart.

When I packed up my New York apartment for the last time, it wasn't just a physical move. I was going through a profound emotional shift, a decision to rethink what success meant to me. A year prior, I had moved from Dallas to chase a dream editorial role, believing that life in the city would be the ultimate marker of success. But after a sudden layoff, the skyline that once inspired me started to feel like a cage.

Despite the joy Zimri brings Savoy, the fact that Zimri will never meet his grandfather compounds his grief, as does Zimri arriving into this world with serious health complications. So Savoy decided to capture this moment in time in a short documentary, also titled Big Bryce Son. Savoy hosts the documentary's Oakland premiere on Friday, Nov. 14, at Rhythm Section Art Lounge for two screenings at 7:30 p.m. and 9 p.m.

When I was pregnant, we moved to a new town, to a wreck of a house we planned to do up. My mum, who was ill, moved in with us, and then I was the carer of a newborn and a dying parent at the two extremes of life, but sharing many of the same needs, and often at the same time.

Knowing she would be undergoing treatments and needed the help, I quit my job to become a manager at one of her four centers. We had previously discussed my future involvement in the company and eventual takeover as director, so while her diagnosis hastened this plan, I felt like I was making the right decision at the time. With this plan, I could help her out while also transitioning into a leadership role.

How could I return to ordinary life after my son died? My grief was overwhelming, spilling into every task and coloring every interaction. Condolences triggered fresh crying jags. I wondered how my eyes could produce so many tears. Over time, however, my work began to draw me in again, demanding that I return to the scientific questions that had defined my career.

In Raymond Carver's classic short story "A Small, Good Thing" (you may also remember it from Robert Altman's Shortcuts), a mom orders a cake for her son's birthday party. Shortly after, the kid gets hit by a car on his way to school and falls into a coma. The baker, unaware of what's happened, keeps calling the birthday boys' parents and telling them to pick up the goddamn cake. And then-spoiler alert- the kid dies.

At his parents' house, there are family pictures everywhere, and I saw that Marie and I look very, very similar. Not just the physical features (though we have a lot of physical similarities, too. In the photos in their house, I could see more clearly that Marie's skin tone, hair color, and many of her facial features look a lot like mine), but also the mannerisms. The way she's acting in those photos reminded me a lot of myself.

I don't mean the obvious. There is fascism rotting not just our nation but the world, fascism so bad that common folk have begun calling it what it is and not just the communists and anarchists I spend most of my time with. The government shutdown, an event engineered by one party alone, exists solely to squeeze to death the programs they couldn't cancel the funding for through legal means, permanently crippling only the social subsidies that they deem unfit.

When they meet, explosively, Aggie is riding the tail end of the success of a bestselling memoir, and running out of money. Her marriage collapsed in the aftermath of their son's death in an accident, and Aggie's behaviour towards the young man she believes was responsible has landed her with a restraining order. I really grew to enjoy her company, says Danes.

[My grief] was coming out in ways that made me think, I need to take this away,

Two years on from the Pogues singer's death, his sister Siobhán and widow Victoria Mary Clarke are ensuring his legacy lives on with a new tour of the places in his beloved Tipperary that inspired him and his music. Here, the pair talk about dealing with their grief, honouring Shane's achievements and coping with life without him.

Feeling isolated after loss from parental death is common for teenagers, but that doesn't make their situation any easier. In fact, it can complicate the grief process even more if teens don't have anyone else close to them in their life who also lost a parent. The loss can suddenly make them feel different from their peers, almost like an outcast. This is where a helpful positive coping mechanism exercise can benefit them.

When Aberdeen-raised drummer and composer Sebastian Rochford's star rose around the millennium, he quickly made an impact with his precocious and inclusive awareness of 1950-1960s Monk-and-Miles jazz grooves, rock, funk, global music and more. From 2002, Rochford's unique sax-led quintet Polar Bear began earning nominations for Mercury, Mobo and Urban Music prizes, as well as the kind of fame rare in instrumental jazz.

I just sat here watchin my daddy die after feeling like it was the first time he and I were truly building,

Ed and Sheena were about to have sex for the first time after their third miscarriage six weeks before. Sheena had recently felt Ed being distant towards her. This made her wonder if Ed's disappointment about their most recent loss was turning into anger. Did Ed silently blame her for their losses? After all, her body had failed to carry through the pregnancies. She hoped that the two of them getting intimate with one another that night would bring them closer together.

I lost my Dad suddenly this year. During the intermission of Wicked on Broadway, I saw his name pop up on my phone. "Hey Daddy, I'm at a play right now --" His sister-in-law stopped me before I could finish. "I have some really bad news," she said. "Your Dad died." A relative who recently got into painting sent me a lifelike painting of my Dad and it sits on my mantle.

"Not My Weekend," directed by Rona Segal, is a 19-minute short film making its international debut at the Chelsea Film Festival. The drama from Israel takes place during a single night and follows Sharon, a divorced woman in her 40s, who gets invited to a rave party on her free night, but when her ex-husband stands her up, she must find someone to watch her child if she wants to attend the party. The film stars Liat Tamari, Tamar Reinhertz, Meir Swissa, and Sahron Shaha.

Every time something reminded me of him, I broke out in tears. I've never been more heartbroken in my life. I'd go to bed crying and I felt this empty place inside of me, and I never thought I'd get over it. But every day gets better and better. I'll never stop loving him and I'll never get over it, but now I realize I did the right thing.

Can training a goshawk cure grief? Or treat it, in some way? Will keeping it indoors hooded so that it remains calm and then taking it out hunting allow you to reconnect radically with nature in a way that prissy townies will never understand? Or is this just a domesticated festival of cruelty to both bird and prey and a symptom of serious depression?

My Mother Reg wished me to go with him to the field, I paused because I did not want to go; But in her quiet way she made me yield Reluctantly, for she was breathing low. Her hand she slowly lifted from her lap And, smiling sadly in the old sweet way, She pointed to the nail where hung my cap. Her eyes said: I shall last another day.

This past July, I bought eggplants at the farmers' market, intending to make my grandmother's signature maqlubeh: the cinnamon-and-allspice-scented rice dish layered with fried eggplants and chicken, cooked in a pot, then flipped onto a serving platter, forming a golden dome. Before I had the chance to peel the eggplants, stripe by stripe, and drop them into hot oil, a WhatsApp message came in from my mother-a single, waving-hand emoji at an unusual hour.

She taught me from a very young age that life is a party and no matter what happens, we have to have fun and move forward, and so I think this book was inspired by that.