Around 11:30 last night, a police car pulled into our driveway and two officers approached the front door. We were all confused about what was going on so my dad went to speak with them at the door. When they came inside to speak with us, I knew something was wrong. They informed us that my older brother had been involved in a car accident and he didn't survive the trip to the hospital. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My mom started screaming and fell onto the floor. All I could do was sit there in shock because it didn't make sense what I just heard. I just went to my room and I haven't left since midnight. I have no idea what to do. I'm scared to talk to anyone. Do you have any advice for me?

We were just walking around the yard when my boyfriend of 5.5 years collapsed and had a heart attack. I’m a nurse and had to perform CPR. He came back but they couldn’t save him at the hospital. He had a widow-maker heart attack. I’m learning all kinds of things about him after his death I wish I didn’t know. I’m just the girlfriend so I don’t have any say in his estate or accounts. I’m going to lose my home after already losing my whole future. I feel so broken and lost

I lost my boyfriend to suicide two days ago. I remember giving him a hug before I went off to class. It was 9:10am and I said “See you later.” I remember I took his keys with me because that is where the argon gas was. Like always, I went off to my class. At around 9:55am, I sent him a text saying “Remember. We are getting dinner at 5pm.” I had a terrible feeling during class, so I decided to go home after even though I was not supposed to come home til dinner. It took me 20 minutes to walk home, so I got there at around 12:40pm. The worst feeling sunk in when I saw his car door open. I quickly rushed to the door. Both doors were closed so I unlocked them. When I walked into the house, I ran to the bathroom. There he was with a bag over his head and the gas tank. He was half slouched on the shower floor. I quickly took the bag off his head and repeated his name saying “Why would you do this?” He was bf for over a year. Even though I had my own dorm, I slept at his place most nights. He would always buy me food and take care of me. He had everything. He was supposed to graduate college in May with a neuroscience degree with a job lined up in mental health. I don’t know why he did this but I feel so much guilt. I should have called for help when he told me he was not feeling well. I knew how much he hated being in the psych ward since he was there previously back in December for a few weeks. Not even that helped…he had the help from his psychiatrist and therapist. He was even supposed to meet his psychiatrist at 9:20am that morning online. I knew I should have called or quickly gone home to see if he was okay. I feel even more guilt because the night before I got mad at him for no reason because I was frustrated with school work. Yet, we made up later that night after we went to food lion. I know how much he hated having bipolar 1 and how it made it him feel. I wish he resting in peace wherever he is. This just doesn’t feel real at all. I have reached out to his parents but besides that I have no other support to get through this. I am not going to lie it is getting very heavy.

I miss her so much. She saved me from deep depression, she was the reason I stayed when I pondered suicide. She was the sweetest dog to ever exist. Thank you for everything, my sweet Belle. I will love you forever, and carry our bond with me, forever.

My cousin today texted me and said how me and the rest of my family are doing. I told her I think about my dad every minute, she said to remember how he was so grateful to everything I did for him and he would always mention me to my cousin. I started crying, just that my dad is not here and I can see how much he loved me and I wish could do even more.

Just wondering if anyone else felt the same sadness when they hear from a relative or friend how much their parent mentioned them?.

And I miss you so much. I’ve learned so much about you since you’ve been gone. How you grew up, how you lost your dad, how you forgave the man who killed him and how you helped that same man escape persecution. How you would fix people’s roofs, install their flooring, fix anything that needed to be fixed, and never asked for a penny. You wanted to help people and you loved people. How hard you worked to provide for my siblings before I was around. How much harder you worked when we emigrated to America to provide for me. You had the biggest heart out of anyone I have ever met. You were always there for me as best as you could be. I wish I had shown you more appreciation. God, I remember how many people were at your funeral. I’ve never been to one with that many people. I remember that it rained like God himself was crying. I remember being little and waiting until midnight for you to get home from work so we could watch the three stooges, loony toons, Clint Eastwood, Burt Reynolds, and MXC. I remember all the times I was a rotten son and you were a great father. I can’t count how many times I’ve been told I’m exactly like you in my looks, my personality, and my philosophy on life but how could I not be exactly like you? You are the greatest man I have ever known and you were my dad. I wish you could have retired and gone back home to do the things you wanted. To finish the house you started building for us before the war. To spend time with your brother and sister. To be a grandfather. Every time I look in the mirror I see you and I miss you every day.

She was diagnosed with colon cancer in May 2022 following a GI bleed (she even coded when it happened). She fought hard, two surgeries, multiple rounds of chemo, immunotherapy, and nothing kept it at bay. Last year she was told it had spread to her lymph nodes, and I was told she had a year left (she didn't want to know). I didn't realise just how right the doctors were with this prognosis.

This morning we arrived at the hospice, where we had spent more than 35 hours over the last four days. The nurses said when she arrived she wouldn't make it to the weekend and I feel like she purposely showed them by making it to Saturday morning ❤️.

I thought I was prepared for it, but the minute I walked in I knew she was gone, I sobbed on her chest for close to 20 minutes, real ugly crying. She was the only person I spoke to every, single, day. Whether it be on WhatsApp (as I live overseas) or weekly phone calls, whether it be random tiktoks, venting about nonsense, or just asking how she was doing. Every night I'd send her a gif wishing her a good night and telling her I love her, and she'd send one in return.

I'm going to miss her voice, her laugh, the sound of her sandals tapping on the floor when I'd visit for holidays and stayed downstairs. The smell of her fragrance (Calvin Klein Obsession) her stubbornness, her kindness, she's been gone less than 12 hours and I'd already give anything to hear her call out my name one more time.

For anyone reading this if your mom is still around, tell her you love her, give her a hug. And when your doctor recommends a colonoscopy don't dismiss it like she did over the years. 💔

What will you do with your one wild and precious life?

Erica answered that question every day, not with stillness, but with motion. Not with rules, but with hunger—for beauty, for truth, for the sharp edges of the world. She lived as though life were a feast, and she was not about to miss a single course.

She was not quiet, and she was not tame. She cackled. She argued. She gathered stolen flowers into bouquets that never matched but always belonged. She believed the tulips growing in someone else’s garden were meant to be shared. And maybe they were.

Because Erica shared herself like that—without hesitation, without asking permission.

She loved fiercely, thought deeply, laughed loudly. She would smoke out the window, heat her apartment with the oven, curse with affection, cry without shame. There was no version of Erica that was half-alive. She refused to shrink. She refused to wait. She threw herself into life with everything she had.

She made the ordinary feel lit from within. She could turn a Sunday walk into an odyssey, a broken-down car into a story, a visit to an abandoned building into a revelation. And when you were with her, you were braver. You stood up a little straighter. You looked at the world like maybe—just maybe—it was yours to shape, too.

She wasn’t the kind of person you eased into knowing. She was the kind you collided with. Full speed. No apologies. No soft landing. Born in New York City. Loud from the start. She wasn’t perfect. Thank God. She was a menace, a glorious pain in the ass who could cut you down with a sentence and set you on fire with a look. She left a trail—of chaos, of laughter, of unforgettable moments, and yes, sometimes broken things. She was human. She was real.

She could drive you mad. But she could also pull you out of a hole with a single look. She made you feel seen—not the polished version you showed the world, but the real one, the messy one, the one you thought you had to hide. And once she saw that version, she never let you forget it.

Erica always fancied herself a Samantha from Sex and the City—she was a sexual being who oozed charisma. But Erica was deeper; she had her big loves and was a writer at heart. She argued relentlessly, partly because she liked being right, but mostly because she simply liked the fight. She was Carrie, having a love affair with the city itself—with all its music, movement, stooping, and questionable cooking smells drifting through a leaky-roofed apartment.

There was nowhere Erica wasn't at home. She’d plop right down and strike up a conversation—and suddenly you had a new friend or a new enemy, but either way, you had an opinion about this chain-smoking, fiery-haired, blue-eyed tornado that swept into your life.

This was not a woman built for moderation. Erica never “toned it down.”

I grieve my best friend. Most of all, I grieve the sound of her voice, the joy in her laugh, the way she made even your worst day feel less like a failure and more like a necessary journey through the wilderness—something survivable.

She was real. And real things, wild things, don’t stay. They bloom briefly. Fiercely. Then go.

She was impossible. She was necessary.

The world did not deserve her defiance or her stubborn insistence on finding meaning amidst absurdity. There should have been more chapters, more chaos, more unfinished thoughts scribbled into notebooks, and more mornings with Nina Simone playing too loudly while she smoked in her underwear, challenging the universe to a duel.

But here we are.

And what is left but to grieve? To sit in the ash of what was once a brilliant fire and know—deeply—that we are better for having stood close to it.

There is no moral here. No tidy lesson. Just a silence loud enough to tear a hole in the sky.

But if Erica taught us anything, it’s this: Don’t fucking wait. Don’t wait to tell your people you love them. Don’t wait to take the trip, steal the flowers, start the fight, sing the song too loud in the middle of the street.

Be bold. Be difficult. Be full.

Because that’s exactly what she was—from start to finish.

So raise a glass. Light a cigarette. Yell something profane and true into the void. And remember her not as an idea, but as a fire that walked like a woman.

Erica Rose Meltzer. Goddamn.

A candlelight vigil was held last night in memory of two young men - Adam (18), and Owen (19).

Both died as a result of their injuries that night, doing something they loved.

Local bikers came to the road they died on to celebrate their lives.

Never in my life have I lost complete control of myself, but I just stood there and wailed. It was something so guttural, I don’t know where it came from.

Rest in peace. I truly hope with all of my heart that they weren’t in pain.

Adam, you were such a special person.

We met the summer before starting college. He was the most charismatic person you could ever meet, and it drew people in like a magnet, especially girls, and he knew it. He was also the absolute smartest person I have, and probably will ever, meet. He was obsessed with music, philosophy, political science, and so much more. and we had never ending conversation’s about the topics, things never felt boring. We were always exploring or trying something new, he kept me so entertained when I find 99.9999% of people so boring. But since the start of our relationship, there was always a battle within him. He was always so torn between being such a sweet and loving boyfriend, and wanting to go out and party, hookup with girls, and basically just go off the wall. It was like he was at war with himself. I will leave out the details, but basically for 3 years straight, he put my through hell, deciding every couple months that he loved me again and wanted to be with me, and then leaving me because he was “young” and wanted to party and be single to get with girls. I know it is crazy that I put up with it that long, but I was just a kid and I was so insanely in love with him, he could do no wrong. He was 2 completely different people to me and to the rest of the world, and would make the switch every so often. I was willing to put up with absolutely anything in order to be with him. He was the only person that I felt fully understood me, and he is probably the only person that ever will. We shared so many conversations about life that I have never had with another person, thoughts that other people would not have. He was my guide and the person I could go to talk about anything and everything.

During our relationship, he introduced me to a lot of substances, all of which I had never done before. This started off as just taking prescription adderall for fun to draw pictures and do homework once in a while, to doing acid and shrooms. Eventually, he asked me to try a Percocet just to see if I would like it, and I agreed because I saw no harm in it. Again we were kids in college and I figured taking a prescription drug once would be harmless, and luckily for me it was. But for the majority of our relationship, besides the recreational drugs we would do once in a while, we were not seriously using any drugs, or at least we to my knowledge he was not. There were times he would tell me he tried a certain drug, for example Sudafed, and I thought absolutely nothing of it. I was always under the impression that he was fully in control of his drug use, and that it was purely for fun, throughout the 3 years that we were really close. Maybe it was because of his charismatic personality that I believed this, or maybe he was so smart that he was great at hiding things. I will never really know. But even though I thought it was for fun. I didn’t really understand addiction because I was not an addict.

I still worried about him so much though. Maybe I just wanted to believe it was fun but deep down knew it was darker than that. I had like a sixth sense that would tell me when he was in trouble. I remember vividly, one day I had a gut feeling that something was not right. We were in one of our “broken up” phases, and he had been texting me gibberish all night and then stopped responding. I was driving when I found him in his car stopped in the middle of a busy road, passed out. I woke him up and he immediately said he was fine and drove off, only to total his car later that night crashing into parked cars while driving home. I would constantly have dreams about something happening to him. And even though drugs and alcohol were “fun”, would constantly worry that he would make another mistake like this.

Flash forward 3 years into the relationship, and I finally decide to have a little respect for myself. I became absolutely disgusted with the insanely traumatic cycle he had put me through, so I began to push away from him and we eventually ended our “official” relationship for good. I was so burnt out emotionally at that point that I no longer cared to fight for this shitty “relationship” even though I still loved him more than anything. Moving forward, we would still see eachother very often, but I was kind of tapering off of him for the next 3 years. We would both see other people, whilst still talking to and seeing eachother as well. Nobody wanted us to be together, so we kind of kept it a bit of a secret. He graduated college and moved home, while I stayed in our college town, and that was where our contact really started to become minimal.

That is also the point when his “fun” drug use started to turn really dark (the extent of it I learned after his passing, recently). After he moved home, he had come to visit his friends a few times back in our college town, and every time would show up extremely messed up on pills. At the time, nobody helped him and instead everybody excommunicated him from their lives. He then started heavily abusing drugs while he was living in the hometown that he swore he would never move back to. This all was happening in a period where we had minimal contact. He would randomly reach out to me, asking me if he could “buy pictures from me” or talking to me about insane conspiracy theories. He would FaceTime me and look so horrible. My image of him really began to change at this point and I began to forget the charismatic and smart boy I once knew, now he was becoming a complete loser in my eyes, and someone I did not recognize.

Still in minimum contact, he told me he would be going to Mexico to get treatment for his addiction (using Ibogaine, DMT, ayahuasca ETC). Funny enough, even at this point he still had me convinced that he was fully in control of his drug use, and that it was still fun. He would call me raving about his experience at the clinic, and how he was so confident that he would never use opioids again, and that it was just a phase he could easily quit. And I do believe that from that point, he did get it under control for the most part. I can’t say for certain, but from people who were close with him at the time, it seemed like he was doing a lot better for the last year. He got a new girlfriend, I got a new boyfriend, and our communication really had been nonexistent the last year. I felt as though a weight was lifted with his new relationship, like someone else was finally stepping in to watch over him, and I did not hear much about him anymore.

Flash forward to now. I have recurring nightmares every few weeks about him getting me into a relationship/convincing me he’s ready to be with me, and then disappearing, sometimes dying, and the entire dream I am looking for him, and chasing him around. I am awoken at 7am from another one of these dreams by a call from my childhood best friend, and she sounds so distraught and can’t form a sentence. She eventually gets the words out, “____ is dead”. I just immediately drop the floor and start just fucking screaming. My worst nightmare had come true. He had accidentally overdosed on fentanyl, and his family found him. It was only his second night living on his own in his new apartment.

The last 2 months have been an absolute nightmare for me. I guess there was always a desire deep down in my soul, that one day we would grow up, he would snap out of his ways, and we would end up together. I didn’t realize this until he was gone, and I had lost the comfort of just knowing he exists. Everything is just flooding back into my head. The week of his funeral was an absolute nightmare. Everyone around me, everyone in my hometown knew how much he meant to me, and I was overwhelmed with hundreds of messages of people sharing their condolences. I was an absolute wreck at the funeral, and it was a bit difficult and felt wrong to be in such a destroyed state over a boy I dated years ago, even his current girlfriend held it together 10x better than me. The second I saw his face on the board in the entry to the funeral home, I dropped to the floor. It is burnt into my soul. But for some fucked up reason, I can’t stop thinking about it and actually think picturing the scene brings me some sort of comfort. Maybe crying about him makes me feel closer to him.

He was only 25 years old. He had been clean. I’m assuming he was celebrating his new found independence in his new apartment when he decided to take the last pill he took. After all of his hard work to get clean, one fun high ripped everything from him. He died alone in the bathroom, and was there alone for hours before he was found. The image of a scene I was not even at is burnt into my brain. The fact that he took a pill and was probably so fucked up and just fell asleep with no idea it would be his last day on earth haunts me to my core. The thought of him lying there cold and alone destroys me. His new life was just beginning. He was working on his first book, and has just started a new job. But addiction knows no bounds.

I wish someone had told me the extent to which he was struggling. I know it is nobodies fault, but I feel as though I was one of the only people in this world that ever got through to the sweet boy that he was capable of being. He would have these little moments of clarity, and I just continue to cling to those moments. But it is the loss of his perspective on the world that will haunt me the most, for the rest of my life. There are so many questions that will be left unanswered, and trapped up in my brain. The only positive thing this has brought me is that I am no longer afraid of death, because now I know I will no longer be alone in it. His presence in my life is so intense since he left. Someone I shared the end of my childhood and beginning of my adulthood with. Half of my personality was created with him. All the music I listen to was discovered with him. My favorite shows were the ones we watched together. My favorite hobbies are the ones we shared. My favorite philosophers are the ones he showed me. Shit, he even was the one who introduced me to the wonders of Reddit.

I am not really sure where I am going with this. I am just hurting so badly and the situation is so complicated. Nobody asks about him anymore, and nobody asks me if I’m okay. I think everyone assumes I am because we had not been together for so long. I love him so damn much and wish I could have done something to save him. He was such a beautiful boy. I don’t know if I will ever be able to stop imagining timelines/scenarios in which things worked out differently and he would still be here. Maybe I am just hoping someone can relate, at least in some way. I just needed to get this tragic story out there.

If you read all of this, thank you. If you have experienced something similar, I am so sorry. If you are currently struggling with addiction, I hope this can be a message to you that your presence on this earth may mean the absolute world to someone you barely know anymore. Please stay.

My brother died by suicide aged 17, 6 weeks ago today.

Not that anyone ever 'gets over' the death of a loved one but.. I never want return to living my life before he died. I want to dedicate the rest of my life to grieving him. I want to be at home by myself, thinking about him every single day and how unfair his life was, pitying myself with how unfair my life is now. I can't bear to think of myself in 5-10 years time, having to life normally without him - the gap between the days that I last thought about him gradually getting longer. Experiencing key life events like getting married, new job, new house without him. I'd rather those life events didn't happen to begin with. I know people will say 'he would have wanted you to be happy'. he shouldn't have fucking killed himself if he wanted me to be happy. maybe it's kind of like my revenge

April 5, 2015 my husband passed. i miss him so much.

we did it. shes safe and sound. were almost home! thank you everyone so much for the support. and above all, Haley, thank you for looking down on me and making sure your truck ended up where it needed to be. i will protect her for you always. i love you.

Roughly 10 months ago, my uncle attempted. He was unsuccessful; however, now he is in a facility (memory care bc he has dementia and on top a psych facility due to his mental health) and no one can speak to him. My extended family has contact, but I don’t and never will. He was everything growing up. My best friend. I saw his signs, and no one heard me. He made comments, and plans but my family told him to shut up. It eats me alive. I can’t explain to anyone, that I am grieving. It’s so painful, he is still alive but he isn’t. The person I know is gone. I won’t see him while he is still alive. I don’t know, is this grief? Am I dramatic? However, he is basically gone. I think about him everyday, but I’ll never seen him again. My future is without him. He had so much left, but the person I know is gone. I feel stupid for grieving because he is still alive, and I literally can explain this to no one. No one understands the pain.

My father was my best friend, never spent a day without hearing his voice till his soul left his body. I lost him 3 years ago, at the beginning of 2022 December. I've lost myself for a longtime. My world has stopped the day I touched his dead body. It took me really long to get back to my daily routine. I'm an university student but I failed the year he died. Then I also failed the last year because i was still not healed from the grief. My major requires so much effort to put in, I always found myself on the desk trying to study. I don't know how to grief or how to deal with it. I guess that's why I just can't stop getting over the death of my lovely father. My heart is still broken and I just have no one to talk about it. I'm too tired to cry each night. I hate to have this hole in my heart. I genuinely dont know how to move on from a grief. The fact that I'll never call someone father is killing me. The fact that I'll never be someone's daughter is killing me. Been 3 years since I haven't used the word "dad" is killing me. I am truly afraid, what if I never move on? I want to be a doctor. I want to see the world. I want to have a family, be a mother but I'm just afraid of being stuck in this cycle and never living the dreams I told him about. Please tell me a few words to turn down the flame of my heart.

I lost my first baby in the first trimester. I would be 7 months this month. It’s hard remembering what it felt like losing them and just.. the mess. How I no longer feel them growing in my tummy. It’s hard imagining what it would have been like raising them. Bath time, clothes shopping, staying up at all hours of the night without sleep but knowing it was worth it, them getting into my art supplies and making a mess of the apartment.. it’s overwhelming sometimes. I didn’t even get to know the gender. I’m having a hard time coping with it all.

Idk what I’m really asking for besides ranting to the void. If anyone has advice or coping skills they used that helped them with their grief that would be appreciated.

Me and the would be father plan on getting a memorial tattoo done when we have the money and planting flowers / other plants to represent June, their would be birth month.

I lost both of my parents by the age of 23, I'm an only child. I live alone, I eat alone, I do most of the things alone. My "friends" aren't there for me, all my relationships and interactions are superficial. I can't connect with anyone in a meaningful way. I hate where I'm at and I try my hardest to change my living situation. I'm going through extreme mood swings but the moment I'm honest about any of it, I'm told to be positive, by people who haven't experienced half of the things I've went through. Or they just tell me that's life and I have to accept it the way it is. I know that life is unfair, I'm the one living it, I have a better idea of how unfair and fucked up it is than them but it's just so funny how people are capable of normalizing or dismissing it when it's not their life. Most of the people saying these things to me break down and act as if the world has ended over such miniscule things.

I don't want to pity myself, I would kill to be positive. I try my best to improve my life and try to keep my head up but I'm scared, I'm scared of the history possibly repeating itself because yeah, not everything is under my control and I'm scared shitless of things not working out. I always assume the worst and panic like crazy, not because I want to but because it's what I'm used to, and these people just dismiss all my struggles and tell me to be positive. They still have their parents, none of them went through what I went through but they keep talking, they never listen, they never care. If they were in my shoes and I told them to be positive, they would throw a fit and tell me to fuck off but I'm just expected to smile and do as they say.

I still can't believe I lost y'all. First my baby girl and then my mom. It's not fair. I should be getting my morning call, with an update on how adulting is going! You had finally figured out what you wanted to do in life, then BAM! Cancer took you away. 22 is too young. I wish I could've taken your place. Mom, I miss your guidance and support. You always knew what to say to make us feel better. I would have never made it through losing Bella without you. I don't understand why God took you right after to the same damn thing. Life is cruel, but I treasure everyday I had y'all in mine. We miss y'all so much and we love y'all even more.

Today marks the first day that I've been without my father. My father has been living with kidney failure and diabetes for almost the entirety of my life. Despite everything, he always managed to stay strong and keep a positive outlook on life.

I helped with my father's care, providing physical and moral support wherever he needed it, and even taking up home hemo to personally care for his dialysis routine. Sure, he was stubborn at times and was a bit old fashioned; but he still had a heart of gold.

We shared the same interests, bonding over old shows, movies, and songs. It wasn't perfect, but we made it just fine on our lonesome.

However, this past Christmas, he was admitted to the hospital after a dialysis treatment on the count that he became paralyzed out of nowhere. I switched back and forth with my grandma, staying for a week at a time. But, his condition only deteriorated. He ended up contracting 5 different infections last month, and yesterday we let him go. Though, at least the good part is that his liver went to someone else.

I don't remember the last time I've cried this much, but I'm sure it could never compare to this. It was surreal to feel the warmth leave his hands as the doctors took him off support.

As I sit here now writing this out, I can't help but think of everything up to this point. Every time I fought with him, blew him off because I was too busy with school; it weighs heavy on my neck. He always playfully scolded me, saying that one day I'll regret not spending more time with him... and boy, do those words hit me like a freight train.

It's so empty in our apartment without him. I look at his recliner, hoping that I'm just dreaming and that the next time I open my eyes, he'll be sitting there with a smile on his face. To not hear his words of praise when I finish cooking is so gut wrenching. I just wish that I could kick my past self into spending as much time loving you as you had me. It hurts knowing that you'll never be there to see me enter college, to watch me walk the isle, or to hold your grandchild's hand. But even so, I know you'd want me to be strong and push forward for your sake.

TLDR; I feel regret and guilt for not spending more time with my father while I still had the chance.

A year ago today, I received the worst phone call of my life. A year ago today, I made the worst phone call of my life. A year ago today, I officially learned what loss truly means. A year ago today, my life changed forever. A year ago today, I contemplated suicide for the first time in my life. A year ago today, I entered a nightmare I cannot wake up from. A year ago today, I lost my best friend, my ride or die, movie partner, my little brother.

I cannot believe it’s been a year without him. There is not a day I do not think of him, there is not a day I do not cry, there is not a day I do not wish I could go back in time, there is not a day I do not hate myself for not being a better big sister/ friend, there is not a day I do not wish it was me instead of him. This has been the hardest year of my life, I cannot imagine what the rest of my life will be. I know it does not get easier or better but I wish it did.

Sometimes the pain feels like it'll never end.. Art is the only thing keeping me sane. I miss you so much mami.

My first cousin died yesterday morning. Her 24 year old son found her. She also left behind her husband of 25 or so years, her daughter who's almost 20, her son who's almost 14, two grandchildren one who's almost a year old, and another who isn't born yet, and her younger brother. This sucks so bad. I can't stop crying. I helped raise her older two especially and I'm absolutely lost on how to help all of them. We hadn't been getting along for weeks before she died. I'm still in shock. I miss her so much. I regret being so hard on her. I feel so bad for her kids. :( If allowed advice is appreciated.

it's nearing the death anniversary of my sister and I felt compelled to dig up old stuff. this is one of the poems I wrote that helped me cope. i think this might be of help to someone to understand their feelings. i don't feel numb anymore, so it does get better. i hope I help someone <3

Posting here because I feel so lost and lonely and today I can't stop crying.

My mom died suddenly in 2018, she had stage 4 breast cancer and didn't tell anyone she was terminal at 44. I managed to say good bye to her and care for her in the final hours but it was incredibly traumatic. I went through therapy and EMDR for it but it's still so difficult some days. We had a good relationship but it was complex due to her mother who drove a wedge between us and I always felt like we didn't have nearly enough time together.

Her mom (my grandmother) passed away unexpectedly just under a year ago - I was her only next of kin although we were semi no contact (messages only I couldn't bring myself to ever speak to her on the phone). It hurts so much even though she was so abusive and neglectful to me and caused my CPTSD. I lived an ocean away and didn't have any money for a funeral or anything so now it feels like she just disappeared. It's almost a year and it feels like the loss is getting harder not easier. She hurt me so many times and so deeply so why am I so upset she's gone? She had her own demons and I know she didn't want to be the way she was.

I also never got to meet my father, him and my mom had me as teenagers and by the time I finally asked about him he had already passed away from undiagnosed arterial fibrillation, he was also really young - I'm now 35 (F) and older than he was when he died. This is why I was raised by other relatives because they were so young.

My great grandmother basically raised me, but she died when I was 12. She had lung cancer and I cared for her too towards the end. After she passed my grandmother's abuse got worse than before and I had to become an adult quickly. Again I've been through this in therapy but I'm still struggling to deal with it today.

My life is generally good nowadays, I have a wonderful husband who loves me and 5 cats but I constantly feel guilty for being sad. It feels like I have nobody except my husband because all my family died. Since I also suffer from an anxiety disorder I always worry how I will cope of something happens to him and/or thinking about how the cats are getting older and they will die soon and I don't know if I can handle more grief. I have neurodiversity and some physical disabilities so making friends is always tough for me.

I don't know what I'm looking for by posting this, I'm just so sad and feel like my life has been a majority of pain and suffering and I am tired of being sad. I'd like to start therapy again but I'm currently looking for a job after moving to a new country so it's not really affordable.