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James Van Der Beek: From Dawson Creek Heartthrob to Devoted Father and Legacy of Love
James David Van Der Beek, born on March 8, 1977, in Cheshire, Connecticut, rose to fame as the charismatic teen heartthrob Dawson Leery on the beloved television series Dawson’s Creek (1998–2003). His role captured the hearts of millions of fans worldwide, cementing his place in pop culture history. But beyond the screen, Van Der Beek was a man of depth, humor, and devotion — particularly to his family. His life story, tragically cut short by colorectal cancer on February 11, 2026, serves as a testament to love, perseverance, and the enduring bonds of family.
By Story Prism9 days ago in Families
thankful for the children. Top Story - February 2026.
when a stranger sees my ring and congratulates me by saying, "love is love," and asking if my husband and i got hitched right after gay marriage was legalized, i coolly say,
By kp9 days ago in Pride
Gulo's Thermal Spa Treatment
We finally got to the thermal spa that we've been wanting to visit for two months. I formed a party of four that included my niece, myself and two of my teaching colleagues, Katie and Anna. I reserved a room for one hour for 3-5 people that had a hot and cold pool and a sauna for 200 GEL ($75), which is a decent price when you split it for four people.
By Lana V Lynx10 days ago in Viva
The Empty Mansion and the Small Hut: A Lesson in True Wealth
By Hazrat Umer Why having everything money can buy might still leave you with nothing. I once knew a man named Sameer. Sameer was a very successful businessman in 2020. He had everything a person could dream of: a giant mansion with marble floors, three expensive cars, and a bank account that never ended. He was always busy, moving from one meeting to another, his phone ringing every second. People looked at him and said, "He is the luckiest man in the world."
By Hazrat Umer10 days ago in Families
The Night Everything Fell Apart
The Night Everything Fell Apart Ubaid I used to believe that life collapses slowly—like a building with cracks that warn you before it falls. I was wrong. Sometimes, everything shatters in a single night. It was a Thursday evening when the sky looked strangely heavy, as if it knew something I didn’t. I remember sitting at my desk, pretending to work while my mind wandered through unfinished conversations and silent disappointments. My phone lay beside me, face down, as if hiding from the truth it was about to deliver. At 9:17 p.m., it rang. I almost didn’t answer. It was my younger sister, Areeba. She rarely called me at night. Her voice trembled when I picked up. “Bhai… you need to come home.” There are certain tones in a person’s voice that freeze your blood. This was one of them. “What happened?” I asked, already standing up, my heart racing. “Just come. Please.” The drive home felt endless. Every red light felt personal, as though the universe had chosen to delay me. My mind ran through a hundred possibilities—none of them good. By the time I reached the house, my hands were shaking. The front door was open. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Inside, the living room lights were on, but the house felt darker than ever. My mother sat on the couch, her face pale, her hands wrapped tightly around her scarf. Areeba stood beside her, eyes red from crying. “Where’s Abbu?” I asked. No one answered. That silence said more than words ever could. “He left,” my mother finally whispered. Left. The word didn’t make sense. My father wasn’t the kind of man who “left.” He was the quiet pillar of our home—the one who paid the bills, fixed broken taps, and watched the news every night at exactly 10 p.m. “He said he couldn’t do this anymore,” Areeba said, her voice cracking. “He packed a bag and walked out.” It felt like the floor shifted beneath me. For years, I had noticed the tension. The late-night arguments behind closed doors. The cold silences at dinner. The forced smiles during family gatherings. But I had convinced myself it was temporary. Every family has problems, I thought. We’ll get through it. That night, I realized denial can be a dangerous comfort. “Did he say where he’s going?” I asked. My mother shook her head. “He just said he needs peace.” Peace. The word echoed bitterly in my mind. What about us? What about the peace of the family he was leaving behind? I walked into my parents’ bedroom. The cupboard door was slightly open. Half his clothes were gone. His watch box was empty. On the bedside table, there was a folded piece of paper. It wasn’t addressed to anyone. Just a few lines in his familiar handwriting: I tried. I really did. But sometimes staying hurts more than leaving. Forgive me. I read it three times, hoping the meaning would change. It didn’t. Anger rose inside me like fire. How could he walk away? How could he leave my mother to explain this to relatives, to neighbors, to a society that thrives on whispers? How could he leave Areeba, who still needed him to check her math homework? And how could he leave me—with the sudden weight of being “the man of the house”? That night, everything fell apart—not just our family structure, but the illusions I had built around it. Around midnight, the power went out. Normally, we would joke about the timing. That night, no one said a word. The house sank into darkness, lit only by the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. I sat on the floor beside my mother. For the first time in my life, she looked small. “I failed,” she murmured. “You didn’t,” I said quickly, though I wasn’t sure what I believed. “This isn’t your fault.” But blame has a way of creeping into broken spaces. It fills the gaps with questions that have no answers. Around 2 a.m., my phone buzzed. A message from Abbu. Take care of them. That was it. No explanation. No location. No promise to return. Just a responsibility handed over like an inheritance. I stared at the screen, my chest tight. I wanted to call him, to shout, to demand answers. Instead, I turned the phone off. Because deep down, I knew this wasn’t just about one fight or one bad day. This was years of unspoken pain finally spilling over. As the night stretched on, reality settled in. Tomorrow, I would have to face relatives asking uncomfortable questions. I would have to manage finances I barely understood. I would have to be strong for my sister when I felt like collapsing myself. But in that darkness, something unexpected happened. We talked. For the first time in years, my mother opened up about her loneliness. About how silence had replaced partnership. About how pride had stopped both of them from seeking help. Areeba admitted she had heard more arguments than we realized. And I confessed that I had seen the cracks but chose to ignore them because it was easier than confronting the truth. The night that broke us also stripped us of pretenses. By dawn, the sky softened into pale blue. Birds began to chirp as if nothing had changed. But everything had. Our family would never look the same again. There would be judgment, financial strain, and emotional wounds that wouldn’t heal overnight. There would be moments of anger and days of deep sadness. Yet, as sunlight slowly filled the room, I understood something important: Falling apart doesn’t always mean the end. Sometimes, it’s the beginning of rebuilding—without lies, without forced smiles, without pretending everything is fine. That night, I lost the version of my family I thought I had. But I gained something else. Clarity. Strength I didn’t know I possessed. And the painful, necessary understanding that love cannot survive where honesty is absent. The night everything fell apart was the worst night of my life.
By Ubaid 10 days ago in Families
The Cracks in Our Walls: Why Our Homes Have Lost Their Peace
By Hazrat Umer The Secret to a Happy Family: Why Justice and Character Matter More Than Money Today, if you look at almost any house, you will see a sad reality. On the outside, the house looks beautiful. But on the inside, there is no peace. In almost every home, people are fighting. Parents are arguing with children, brothers are fighting with sisters, and married couples are struggling to stay together.
By Hazrat Umer10 days ago in Families
Reclaiming Your Nights: An Chinese Herbal Medicine Guide to Soothing an Irritated Prostate
The moment your head hits the pillow, the urge strikes. You’ve just been to the bathroom, but there it is again—that persistent, nagging feeling. So you get up, relieve what feels like a tiny amount, and crawl back into bed, only for the cycle to repeat an hour or two later. If this sounds familiar, you’re not alone. For many men, especially those dealing with prostatitis, these midnight bathroom trips aren't just an annoyance; they are the thieves of deep, restorative sleep, leaving you groggy, irritable, and drained the next day.
By Shuang hou10 days ago in Men
What Makes a True Man
Ever since the Industrial Era came to a close, men have been missing strong male figures to look up to. Spoiled by comfortable office jobs, our hands have grown tender and our determination has weakened. We've transformed into the classic corporate "yes man" – spineless individuals who sneak around ready to betray others just to climb the ladder of material gain. We might wonder, "Perhaps women will find me appealing now that I own this fancy car and upscale apartment."
By LaMarion Ziegler10 days ago in Men