family
My Husband Died Twice—Once in the Hospital, Once in Our Bedroom
The first time my husband died, there were machines all around him. They spoke softly, rhythmically, as if they were trying to convince everyone in the room that life was still going on. The doctor spoke in careful sentences, the nurses avoided my eyes, and I stood there holding his hand, waiting for something to change.
By Echoes of Lifeabout a month ago in Fiction
You Never Listen!
"Look, it's really simple and I can't keep explaining it to you, I won't be here forever, you know!" "I know, but its-" "Just a light. I know what you're going to say, but it's about the bigger picture Mark. You can't have everyone do everything for you your whole life."
By S. A. Crawfordabout a month ago in Fiction
1960’s Out Side Loo
How often do we take for granted the comfort of the things we have in 2020? I remember my childhood and visiting my aunty and uncles with my Mam. I also have memories of living with my granddad in an old two-bedroom terraced house, the worst memory being the outside toilet (the loo to the younger readers). In some places we would visit, Mum would tell me beforehand, “Don't ask to go to the toilet; it's bloody filthy in there. You will catch something.”
By Marie381Uk about a month ago in Fiction








