Do you have a memory that makes you cry every time you think of it

Do you have a memory that makes you cry every time you think of it?


The answer to this question used to be my grandpa’s death.
I could write another answer about that story, too, but.
.
whatever.

The weird thing is, we weren’t really that close, either.
We never even had a meaningful conversation before, as we really only go to see my grandparents at holidays.
But I still cared.

Thats the thing about family, or just people that you care about in general—sometimes you can just deeply care about someone.
.
even if you don’t really have any specific reasons.
*ahem*
But that’s not the story I’m trying to tell.
They say you’ve healed when you can recall and tell a story that used to make you cry, without crying.
So, I’ve healed from that experience.

The experience that makes me cry or tear up every time I think about it is right after his funeral.
We were hanging out with my step grandmother at her house, and I was sitting in the car when we were getting ready to leave so she could let her dog back in the house (I’m terrified of dogs.
.
yes the most annoying phobia ever dogs are literally everywhere), and my dad came to the door of the backseat.

He opened it to talk to me….
and looked at the funeral flyer with my grandpa’s name, time of birth & death on it.
The way he looked at that thing… and then looked at me, tears in his eyes.
He was almost smiling, trying to fight them back.
To be strong in front of me.
And then he said something that shattered my heart in a second.

”I.
.
can’t believe my daddy’s gone, Rae.

It didnt help that that’s what I called him.
.
that made me imagine what it’d be like if I was in his position.
If I lost my dad.
My hero.
The guy I look up to as a roll model and wanna be just like when I grow up.
That makes me want to break down and cry every time I think about it.


“Everytime memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks “.

Everyone have a memory that makes them cry either it's a happy or bad memories.
.
I too have a lots of memories that often make me cry .
When something is closed to you ,you suddenly feel that you going to loose it or something u have dreamt of and output of that comes into a wrong way .
.
It hurts you n make you feel cry out aloudly .
But thing is that “ does it matter to anyone ?“ no , no one is going to bother for you.
.
Either it's a feeling or moments when it becomes memories , it echo's in my heart with a pain .

“Crying is how your heart speaks when your lips can't explain the pain you feel” .

It’s very strange looking through old photographs or thinking about past because they make me feel both happy and sad at the same time.
But now I mostly just feel sad.
Maybe because I was so happy back then.
Does that make sense? It’s kind of ironic that happy memories are the ones that make you the most sad.
It’s more of the tender kind of sadness that where these days has been lost.
It’s the kind of sad when you look through pictures and you realize that those are moments you can never get back and times that you can never revisit.
They are just memories.
Frozen moments captured in time.
I don’t know why or how to explain it.
But yes memories always making me cry .

# latenight # memories haunts # u n me .
.


I do have a memory and I am crying right now.
First let me say this I never meant to fall in love with this guy.
I am dude my self and I always thought that I digged chicks.
Then one day me and the person who I consider to be the love of my life found our passion in each other.
It happened after a game of tennis and fooling around.
It felt so right and we both wanted each other very much.
But society would not allow us to be together and we had to hide our love from the world.
He was the most passionate lover I have ever had and he cared for me deeply.
We had each other’s backs and more.
We could be who we were with each other and I enjoyed that.
He told me there would always be a place in his heart for me after we went out to eat at Arbys.
We exchanged caps afterward and the longest passionate kiss ever.
I miss him right now and my life would never be the same without him.
So long Amigo M…my crazy stallion friend.
JM



I have a recent memory, each time I think of it I feel so sad and miserable.

Last year, I was on a night-shift in the cardiology wards.
That the same day, Morocco defeated another soccer team and got elected to play in Russia.
( don’t ask me cause I ignore anything about football).

That day, I arrived earlier than expected, so I found the previous team that assured the day-shift getting ready to call it a day.
We were talking when suddenly, one patient, a woman in her 50s I guess started suffocating, she was suffering, so we asked her daughter politely to leave the room and called the residents.

The doctors came, turned out she was having a heart attack.
Just when they were starting the CPR, the power went down.
Guess what? It was only in the ICU.
While in other places, there was no problem.

And another bad luck, was that her heart monitor didn't have a battery, so we had to bring an EKG and check her heart manually.

Here I was holding a torch and inspecting the EKG with my other friend, while the previous team was preforming CPR, and residents were inserting the external defibrillator.

We tried for,I guess 30 minutes to 1 hour.
But unfortunately,she didn’t make it and we had to announce her death to the daughter who was waiting there hoping that her mom will fight and stay alive.

And just as we were announcing her death, the power came back on.
A weird coincidence
I still can’t understand what happened.

The saddest part was hearing her daughter crying and suffering, while people outside were celebrating our victory.

It was a strange and sad night shift.
A year passed now,but I still remember every little detail of it, and I don’t think I will ever forget it.


Only one – and it’s a slightly secondhand memory!
I was tidying up recently, and came across a scrap of paper on which I had written (I think about five years ago) brief notes about a dream I’d had.
I don’t recall having this dream, but the description was so vivid that just reading it reduced me to tears, and every time I think of it, it does so again.

In my dream, I was in my grandparents’ garden, which I last saw in 1972, shortly after my grandmother died.
My daughter, who was born about 10 years after that, and is now in her thirties, came running along the garden path as a little girl of about two or three.
She clambered up the stone steps and called out, “Granny!” and ran towards my grandmother.
“No,” I explained, “Great-granny.
Your real Granny is over there,” and turned, to see my mother, who died in 1962 when I was only a child, standing there.

I moved to her and we embraced each other, standing there crying, for all the years we hadn’t had.
The tears woke me out of my dream – and every time I think of this, I’m on the verge of tears again.

Silly, isn’t it? At the time, I hardly cried at all!


It was Grade 12, and graduation was around the corner and everything was looking bright for everyone in my class.
Then one of my best friends got seriously hurt in a snowboard accident on box day and was in a coma for 14 days, after he came out he had no memory of anything.
After a friend and I visited him in hospital for the first time ( we saw him the day after he broke his coma), we decided to visit him every week ( I celebrated my 18th Birthday by his bedside) for several hours and help him get his memory back.
I took notes that I heard helped him be able released from hospital early because I accurately tracked his progress in memory and functions, long story short he was in hospital for 3 months but was unable to graduate on time but he still walked the stage with my class.
That is one of the reasons that my memories of my grade 12 year brings tears to my eyes.
The worst part of grade 12 came in the passing of my grandmother who I was really close with all throughout my life a mere 4 weeks from graduation which she had planned to see for the past 5 years, she even planned all her medical appointments( she needed dialysis).
She used to call every weekend and ask if I had been pick as valedictorian yet and ask if I picked my University, she passed away 2 days before me being picked as valedictorian and being offered a full ride at university.
That’s my sob story for the day.
Cheers!


Absolutely.
I have several.
I remember the worst one, the one that I cannot escape from, it was my grandfathers funeral.
He was my best friend and made me the person I am today.
So when I went to his funeral, unable to even look at him, I have that memory.
I have the memory of me looking away instead of getting that last memory of him.
I wish I had said my goodbyes.
I wish I had gotten my closure.
But I never did.
I also still have the memory of the code red at my old school.
I remember looking at my classmates.
They were all scared of dying, but I didn’t know what to think.
Turned out it was just a mistake and someone was playing around with it.
I have the memory of uncertainty.
I remember remembering all of my memories in that moment.
But one of them that I will probably never forget, was when my little brother was adopted.
I cry every time I think of it.


I wish it was just one.

Losing someone you care for – at the beginning of their lives – and at the begining of your life with them – still brings me to tears in ways that the loss of 70 and 80 and 90 year old family members and life time friends don't do once I have grieved for them.

But when my 25 year old bride – blessed by a ceremony filled with love but not yet with a license – suddenly passed in another state, just a year later, carrying our first son – for decades, I had to fight against remembering the pain and the sorrow and the unfairness of a world that could allow this to happen.

And just when I finally began to forget the pain – decades later -I heard our song – and fell apart.
But, then for the first time I tried to write about her, and slowly, she began to come alive again – and, soon, when I thought about her, I was able to remember the good times.

But, even now – when thinking about those good times, the tears still flow.
And they, probably – always will.


Even though I’m writing this anonymously, I’m still going to be vague.
And to be honest, my understanding of this experience is half-baked and I suspect it will be years until I fully process it.

I recently discovered I’m a funny entertainer.
2.
5 years ago if someone had told me I’d be traveling around the world to study with acclaimed funny people and would make rooms of people laugh hysterically, I’d have thought they were bonkers.

I found this out because I was sad, alone, friendless, felt shame/disgust about myself and appearance (I still battle with this – I’m good looking I’m told), and had left a religious environment I was deeply involved with.
I knew no one was at fault but me.
I wanted to die but I knew I didn’t have it in me to kill myself and I still felt some grit to keep up the fight.
So one night I was mindlessly watching an online comedy series.
Each episode featured a different actor.
The very last one took my breath away and made me cry.
It made me feel unafraid of being alone anymore and I had a sense of hope.
The actor’s eyes were so kind and he haunted me.
I looked him up and learned he had a specific kind of training and that he taught workshops on it.
Some of his workshops were in Europe.
I felt this pull in my gut to go to him and learn.
It wasn’t emotional.
It was a calm and certain feeling.
I wanted to learn more about his specific teachings but also to meet him.
I wanted to deal with my shame and sense of ugliness by standing on stage in front of strangers.
Make them look at me cause I couldn’t look at myself.
It was a reckoning.
I’d never been outside of my country before and I bought my passport so I could go to his workshop.

I was excited and nervous but I kept an objective perspective about the whole thing.
I’d never been around actors – let alone spent much time with people outside my religion – so I knew it was possible he could be not so great in person.
Maybe a jerk.
Maybe full of himself.
Maybe actors were evil.
You get the idea.

The very first day of the workshop at lunch, the actor (the person from the show) came running up to me and told me I was good, a natural, that I have the right spirit, and he asked me if I thought I got his teachings and understood them.
I was dumbfounded.
I had suspected I might have been funny because I made the room laugh multiple times.
And the other actors weren’t getting laughs like I was.
Later that day, after another comedy exercise, in front of the whole class he called what I did “genius” and said it was the best thing done the whole day.
I remember thinking to myself in that moment, “He made me laugh and cry so hard and here is laughing hard right back at me”.
It felt unreal.
He made me stay on stage and told me to feel the love I was getting from the group.
I kept trying to leave and he asked me why I was leaving and made me stay while he praised me.
Finally, he told me I could leave.
Basically, the whole week was like that – he treated me this way.
They all laughed at me.
He’d stare at me with these warm glowing eyes.
Et cetera.
By the end of the week I burst into tears of happiness.
I’d never felt love and acceptance like that before.
I felt understood and like I belonged.
I didn’t know how I deserved such a loving experience.
And I’m still confused I had the intuition to go for an extreme experience that ended up being positive and changed my life.

I’ve been to other similar workshops since and I’ve received similar reactions.
I’m in a world I belong now.
I still cry when I think about how it all unfolded.
There are many more details to my story, this is an extremely abridged version :)


When I was 22 years old, I chose to and was called to serve an 18 month full-time mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
I was to serve in Italy, Milan.
My family was living in Tennessee at the time.
In August 1995 I served for 2 months in the training center in Provo, Utah to learn the lessons and the language.
At that time, we could only speak to our family twice/year—Mother’s Day and Christmas and the only other communication was writing letters (not email).

In October 1995 I was on my way.
I had a three-hour layover at the JFK airport in NY before boarding the flight to Milan.
At that time, non-passengers could walk up to the gates to see people off or pick them up.
When I got off the plane at JFK, I felt this arm wrap around my shoulders and gave me the biggest hug.
My tall, 6′3″ dad, my biggest fan and my best friend, had driven all the way from Tennessee to New York to spend that three hour layover with me before I served my mission.
Those three hours meant everything to me.
I knew I wouldn’t see him again for over another year.

My release date was February 1997 and my parents were going to come to Italy to pick me up and we would tour for a few days before returning home.
In December 1996, my dad had an unexpected heart attack and died.

Those three hours that came from that long drive of sacrifice from Tennessee to New York made by my dad was the last time I saw him.
The last memory I have of him.
That was the last hug I had from him.
I cherish those three hours more than any other time in my life.

He is still my hero.
I stayed on my mission, I even extended a month and came home in March 1997 because I was doing what I knew he would want me to do.
He was so proud of me and I didn’t want to let him down.
I worked hard, I did my best and I have no regrets.
I know he is pleased with my decision to stay and work for the Lord instead of coming home early.

When I see him again, I’ll get another one of his big hugs.
I love you, dad!


I remember sitting on the bed crying my eyes out because my husband was treating our children and I so badly.
I begged him to tell me what was wrong and to go to his family if he couldnt talk to me.
I literally begged him.
Saying “look at me.
See how bad I’m hurting".
He only sat next to me not saying a word or meeting my eyes.

Of course he was cheating with a co-worker whom he eventually moved in with and married.
That was 15 years ago and we were only married 12 years.
It took around 8 years for me to date.
But now I can casually text with him, mostly about our adult daughters and grandkids.
But that moment, sitting on the bed being torn apart and seeing his impassive response still makes my chest hurt, my eyes burn and swallowing impossible.


One day when I was in high school I was on the city bus.
And I saw this man with four children, who were apparently his, and he seemed to love them kids more than anything in the world.

The reason this touched me so much is because I always heard stories going up about how black men weren't shit and how they always leave women when they get pregnant.
So me being young and impressionable and in high school, to see this man with all his children, and you could tell that he was doing it alone, that he had no help.
He was doing the best he could.
You could tell they were poor, but he just wasn't going to give up on his kids and everytime I think about that it just touches me.
It was the saddest and most beautiful thing I've ever seen.


I usually don’t talk about my past to too many people, because it usually causes a lot of questions and confusion.
It also isn’t stuff I like to bring up, so here goes…
The worst memories I have from my past is my friends passing away.
It hurts when you’re close to someone and they all of a sudden aren’t there anymore.
Keep in mind, three of my friends were killed so it hurt more because that meant there was someone out there that was responsible.
I tend to cry nowadays when i’m stressed out or all alone, because the memories come rushing back.
I used to be sad a lot, but I have to move on with my life at some point because I love my life as well!
I am a sensitive person, so I do cry over a lot of stuff or get in my feelings a lot, hehe.
But I felt this memory/these memories are ones that a lot of people might’ve experienced, such as someone close to them dying.
Not exactly in the way I experienced it, but maybe due to cancer or such.
I think the main thing to remember is that they all loved you and they’d want you to be happy.


It is odd but I cry when I think about people who make selfless sacrifices putting their life on the line or dying to help others.
I have an old friend who passed away in the year 2,000 by the name of William Crawford.
He won the Medal of Honor posthumously in WWII.
He was not actually dead and returned to America after the war.
He was one of America’s greatest heroes of all time.
When I think of what he did, it brings tears to my eyes.
I have the same feelings about other Medal of Honor recipients.
If you are interested, google: Medal of Honor William Crawford to see what makes me emotional.


Not memories, I suppose, but coming across old pictures or videos of my father when he was not ill.
He died at the hands of a degenerative neuromuscular disorder that robbed him of most of his movement and his voice very quickly.
My family spent several years fighting to save him as the disorder wasted him away, long enough that at times it becomes hard to remember what he was like before then.

When I see him or hear him before that time, it still makes me terribly sad, even some 20 years since he's passed.
I miss him, he didn't deserve the cruel death that he was given and we didn't deserve to forget the man that he was.
But the process of life doesn't discriminate, sometimes you end up with the tough end of nature's wrath; she does as she must.

We've all survived and moved on to do well for ourselves and see our own families begin and grow.
Nothing would've made him happier.
So at least we can live knowing that.


They have this blissful ignorance about them that makes them oblivious to many of our flaws, willingly embracing us for who we are, a loyalty that isn’t precipitated on anything.

Their obliviousness extends all the way to the last moment of their life, when they are suddenly happy, wondering why they are surrounded by people all of a sudden.

Saying goodbye is quite hard, harder than you’d think.

Dogs.


Do you have a memory that makes you cry every time you think of it?
I still laugh about it.

Lorraine ( my sis ) and I shared a bedroom, we had a wardrobe which we called the tardis, it was 2ft by 2ft.

She shut me in it, in my panic I tipped it over, door side down.
( age about 7) then she legged it.

Getting crumpled by clothes, in the dark, gave me the heebie jeebies, I'm still frightened about small spaces to this day.
Thanks Lou.

So yes, every time I think about my sister makes me laugh, totally nuts.

Stuck her big toe into a bath tap, just because…then wondered why it was stuck.


Lots of memories make me laugh.
But some are sad or nostalgic for things that will never be again.
As the oldest and only living member of my original family I often miss my parents and brothers.
But when I do I also feel lucky to have had so many good experiences and successes during my time here on earth and to still be able to continue to have them now each day that have.
I am very lucky to still be able to enjoy each day with my sweet, delicious, loving woman of a wife that I am so very, very fortunate to have.


All the memories that I have with my grandmother.
She was a wonderful lady who has taken care of over 100 foster kids, and adopted 2 of them.
She passed on August 20, (year kept secret by me) and lived a wonderful life in Westport, Ca, had 7 kids, (including adopted ones) and had about 8 grandchildren, and 4 great grandchildren.


Men don’t cry.
We fight and win or we die.


How is the answer going to help you? I volunteer here to try and help.
I am not here to provide amusement.


Any memory involving my dad or my grandpa.


Do you have a memory that makes you cry every time you think of it?


The answer to this question used to be my grandpa’s death.
I could write another answer about that story, too, but.
.
whatever.

The weird thing is, we weren’t really that close, either.
We never even had a meaningful conversation before, as we really only go to see my grandparents at holidays.
But I still cared.

Thats the thing about family, or just people that you care about in general—sometimes you can just deeply care about someone.
.
even if you don’t really have any specific reasons.
*ahem*
But that’s not the story I’m trying to tell.
They say you’ve healed when you can recall and tell a story that used to make you cry, without crying.
So, I’ve healed from that experience.

The experience that makes me cry or tear up every time I think about it is right after his funeral.
We were hanging out with my step grandmother at her house, and I was sitting in the car when we were getting ready to leave so she could let her dog back in the house (I’m terrified of dogs.
.
yes the most annoying phobia ever dogs are literally everywhere), and my dad came to the door of the backseat.

He opened it to talk to me….
and looked at the funeral flyer with my grandpa’s name, time of birth & death on it.
The way he looked at that thing… and then looked at me, tears in his eyes.
He was almost smiling, trying to fight them back.
To be strong in front of me.
And then he said something that shattered my heart in a second.

”I.
.
can’t believe my daddy’s gone, Rae.

It didnt help that that’s what I called him.
.
that made me imagine what it’d be like if I was in his position.
If I lost my dad.
My hero.
The guy I look up to as a roll model and wanna be just like when I grow up.
That makes me want to break down and cry every time I think about it.


“Everytime memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks “.

Everyone have a memory that makes them cry either it's a happy or bad memories.
.
I too have a lots of memories that often make me cry .
When something is closed to you ,you suddenly feel that you going to loose it or something u have dreamt of and output of that comes into a wrong way .
.
It hurts you n make you feel cry out aloudly .
But thing is that “ does it matter to anyone ?“ no , no one is going to bother for you.
.
Either it's a feeling or moments when it becomes memories , it echo's in my heart with a pain .

“Crying is how your heart speaks when your lips can't explain the pain you feel” .

It’s very strange looking through old photographs or thinking about past because they make me feel both happy and sad at the same time.
But now I mostly just feel sad.
Maybe because I was so happy back then.
Does that make sense? It’s kind of ironic that happy memories are the ones that make you the most sad.
It’s more of the tender kind of sadness that where these days has been lost.
It’s the kind of sad when you look through pictures and you realize that those are moments you can never get back and times that you can never revisit.
They are just memories.
Frozen moments captured in time.
I don’t know why or how to explain it.
But yes memories always making me cry .

# latenight # memories haunts # u n me .
.


I do have a memory and I am crying right now.
First let me say this I never meant to fall in love with this guy.
I am dude my self and I always thought that I digged chicks.
Then one day me and the person who I consider to be the love of my life found our passion in each other.
It happened after a game of tennis and fooling around.
It felt so right and we both wanted each other very much.
But society would not allow us to be together and we had to hide our love from the world.
He was the most passionate lover I have ever had and he cared for me deeply.
We had each other’s backs and more.
We could be who we were with each other and I enjoyed that.
He told me there would always be a place in his heart for me after we went out to eat at Arbys.
We exchanged caps afterward and the longest passionate kiss ever.
I miss him right now and my life would never be the same without him.
So long Amigo M…my crazy stallion friend.
JM



I have a recent memory, each time I think of it I feel so sad and miserable.

Last year, I was on a night-shift in the cardiology wards.
That the same day, Morocco defeated another soccer team and got elected to play in Russia.
( don’t ask me cause I ignore anything about football).

That day, I arrived earlier than expected, so I found the previous team that assured the day-shift getting ready to call it a day.
We were talking when suddenly, one patient, a woman in her 50s I guess started suffocating, she was suffering, so we asked her daughter politely to leave the room and called the residents.

The doctors came, turned out she was having a heart attack.
Just when they were starting the CPR, the power went down.
Guess what? It was only in the ICU.
While in other places, there was no problem.

And another bad luck, was that her heart monitor didn't have a battery, so we had to bring an EKG and check her heart manually.

Here I was holding a torch and inspecting the EKG with my other friend, while the previous team was preforming CPR, and residents were inserting the external defibrillator.

We tried for,I guess 30 minutes to 1 hour.
But unfortunately,she didn’t make it and we had to announce her death to the daughter who was waiting there hoping that her mom will fight and stay alive.

And just as we were announcing her death, the power came back on.
A weird coincidence
I still can’t understand what happened.

The saddest part was hearing her daughter crying and suffering, while people outside were celebrating our victory.

It was a strange and sad night shift.
A year passed now,but I still remember every little detail of it, and I don’t think I will ever forget it.


Only one – and it’s a slightly secondhand memory!
I was tidying up recently, and came across a scrap of paper on which I had written (I think about five years ago) brief notes about a dream I’d had.
I don’t recall having this dream, but the description was so vivid that just reading it reduced me to tears, and every time I think of it, it does so again.

In my dream, I was in my grandparents’ garden, which I last saw in 1972, shortly after my grandmother died.
My daughter, who was born about 10 years after that, and is now in her thirties, came running along the garden path as a little girl of about two or three.
She clambered up the stone steps and called out, “Granny!” and ran towards my grandmother.
“No,” I explained, “Great-granny.
Your real Granny is over there,” and turned, to see my mother, who died in 1962 when I was only a child, standing there.

I moved to her and we embraced each other, standing there crying, for all the years we hadn’t had.
The tears woke me out of my dream – and every time I think of this, I’m on the verge of tears again.

Silly, isn’t it? At the time, I hardly cried at all!


It was Grade 12, and graduation was around the corner and everything was looking bright for everyone in my class.
Then one of my best friends got seriously hurt in a snowboard accident on box day and was in a coma for 14 days, after he came out he had no memory of anything.
After a friend and I visited him in hospital for the first time ( we saw him the day after he broke his coma), we decided to visit him every week ( I celebrated my 18th Birthday by his bedside) for several hours and help him get his memory back.
I took notes that I heard helped him be able released from hospital early because I accurately tracked his progress in memory and functions, long story short he was in hospital for 3 months but was unable to graduate on time but he still walked the stage with my class.
That is one of the reasons that my memories of my grade 12 year brings tears to my eyes.
The worst part of grade 12 came in the passing of my grandmother who I was really close with all throughout my life a mere 4 weeks from graduation which she had planned to see for the past 5 years, she even planned all her medical appointments( she needed dialysis).
She used to call every weekend and ask if I had been pick as valedictorian yet and ask if I picked my University, she passed away 2 days before me being picked as valedictorian and being offered a full ride at university.
That’s my sob story for the day.
Cheers!


Absolutely.
I have several.
I remember the worst one, the one that I cannot escape from, it was my grandfathers funeral.
He was my best friend and made me the person I am today.
So when I went to his funeral, unable to even look at him, I have that memory.
I have the memory of me looking away instead of getting that last memory of him.
I wish I had said my goodbyes.
I wish I had gotten my closure.
But I never did.
I also still have the memory of the code red at my old school.
I remember looking at my classmates.
They were all scared of dying, but I didn’t know what to think.
Turned out it was just a mistake and someone was playing around with it.
I have the memory of uncertainty.
I remember remembering all of my memories in that moment.
But one of them that I will probably never forget, was when my little brother was adopted.
I cry every time I think of it.


I wish it was just one.

Losing someone you care for – at the beginning of their lives – and at the begining of your life with them – still brings me to tears in ways that the loss of 70 and 80 and 90 year old family members and life time friends don't do once I have grieved for them.

But when my 25 year old bride – blessed by a ceremony filled with love but not yet with a license – suddenly passed in another state, just a year later, carrying our first son – for decades, I had to fight against remembering the pain and the sorrow and the unfairness of a world that could allow this to happen.

And just when I finally began to forget the pain – decades later -I heard our song – and fell apart.
But, then for the first time I tried to write about her, and slowly, she began to come alive again – and, soon, when I thought about her, I was able to remember the good times.

But, even now – when thinking about those good times, the tears still flow.
And they, probably – always will.


Even though I’m writing this anonymously, I’m still going to be vague.
And to be honest, my understanding of this experience is half-baked and I suspect it will be years until I fully process it.

I recently discovered I’m a funny entertainer.
2.
5 years ago if someone had told me I’d be traveling around the world to study with acclaimed funny people and would make rooms of people laugh hysterically, I’d have thought they were bonkers.

I found this out because I was sad, alone, friendless, felt shame/disgust about myself and appearance (I still battle with this – I’m good looking I’m told), and had left a religious environment I was deeply involved with.
I knew no one was at fault but me.
I wanted to die but I knew I didn’t have it in me to kill myself and I still felt some grit to keep up the fight.
So one night I was mindlessly watching an online comedy series.
Each episode featured a different actor.
The very last one took my breath away and made me cry.
It made me feel unafraid of being alone anymore and I had a sense of hope.
The actor’s eyes were so kind and he haunted me.
I looked him up and learned he had a specific kind of training and that he taught workshops on it.
Some of his workshops were in Europe.
I felt this pull in my gut to go to him and learn.
It wasn’t emotional.
It was a calm and certain feeling.
I wanted to learn more about his specific teachings but also to meet him.
I wanted to deal with my shame and sense of ugliness by standing on stage in front of strangers.
Make them look at me cause I couldn’t look at myself.
It was a reckoning.
I’d never been outside of my country before and I bought my passport so I could go to his workshop.

I was excited and nervous but I kept an objective perspective about the whole thing.
I’d never been around actors – let alone spent much time with people outside my religion – so I knew it was possible he could be not so great in person.
Maybe a jerk.
Maybe full of himself.
Maybe actors were evil.
You get the idea.

The very first day of the workshop at lunch, the actor (the person from the show) came running up to me and told me I was good, a natural, that I have the right spirit, and he asked me if I thought I got his teachings and understood them.
I was dumbfounded.
I had suspected I might have been funny because I made the room laugh multiple times.
And the other actors weren’t getting laughs like I was.
Later that day, after another comedy exercise, in front of the whole class he called what I did “genius” and said it was the best thing done the whole day.
I remember thinking to myself in that moment, “He made me laugh and cry so hard and here is laughing hard right back at me”.
It felt unreal.
He made me stay on stage and told me to feel the love I was getting from the group.
I kept trying to leave and he asked me why I was leaving and made me stay while he praised me.
Finally, he told me I could leave.
Basically, the whole week was like that – he treated me this way.
They all laughed at me.
He’d stare at me with these warm glowing eyes.
Et cetera.
By the end of the week I burst into tears of happiness.
I’d never felt love and acceptance like that before.
I felt understood and like I belonged.
I didn’t know how I deserved such a loving experience.
And I’m still confused I had the intuition to go for an extreme experience that ended up being positive and changed my life.

I’ve been to other similar workshops since and I’ve received similar reactions.
I’m in a world I belong now.
I still cry when I think about how it all unfolded.
There are many more details to my story, this is an extremely abridged version :)


When I was 22 years old, I chose to and was called to serve an 18 month full-time mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
I was to serve in Italy, Milan.
My family was living in Tennessee at the time.
In August 1995 I served for 2 months in the training center in Provo, Utah to learn the lessons and the language.
At that time, we could only speak to our family twice/year—Mother’s Day and Christmas and the only other communication was writing letters (not email).

In October 1995 I was on my way.
I had a three-hour layover at the JFK airport in NY before boarding the flight to Milan.
At that time, non-passengers could walk up to the gates to see people off or pick them up.
When I got off the plane at JFK, I felt this arm wrap around my shoulders and gave me the biggest hug.
My tall, 6′3″ dad, my biggest fan and my best friend, had driven all the way from Tennessee to New York to spend that three hour layover with me before I served my mission.
Those three hours meant everything to me.
I knew I wouldn’t see him again for over another year.

My release date was February 1997 and my parents were going to come to Italy to pick me up and we would tour for a few days before returning home.
In December 1996, my dad had an unexpected heart attack and died.

Those three hours that came from that long drive of sacrifice from Tennessee to New York made by my dad was the last time I saw him.
The last memory I have of him.
That was the last hug I had from him.
I cherish those three hours more than any other time in my life.

He is still my hero.
I stayed on my mission, I even extended a month and came home in March 1997 because I was doing what I knew he would want me to do.
He was so proud of me and I didn’t want to let him down.
I worked hard, I did my best and I have no regrets.
I know he is pleased with my decision to stay and work for the Lord instead of coming home early.

When I see him again, I’ll get another one of his big hugs.
I love you, dad!


I remember sitting on the bed crying my eyes out because my husband was treating our children and I so badly.
I begged him to tell me what was wrong and to go to his family if he couldnt talk to me.
I literally begged him.
Saying “look at me.
See how bad I’m hurting".
He only sat next to me not saying a word or meeting my eyes.

Of course he was cheating with a co-worker whom he eventually moved in with and married.
That was 15 years ago and we were only married 12 years.
It took around 8 years for me to date.
But now I can casually text with him, mostly about our adult daughters and grandkids.
But that moment, sitting on the bed being torn apart and seeing his impassive response still makes my chest hurt, my eyes burn and swallowing impossible.


One day when I was in high school I was on the city bus.
And I saw this man with four children, who were apparently his, and he seemed to love them kids more than anything in the world.

The reason this touched me so much is because I always heard stories going up about how black men weren't shit and how they always leave women when they get pregnant.
So me being young and impressionable and in high school, to see this man with all his children, and you could tell that he was doing it alone, that he had no help.
He was doing the best he could.
You could tell they were poor, but he just wasn't going to give up on his kids and everytime I think about that it just touches me.
It was the saddest and most beautiful thing I've ever seen.


I usually don’t talk about my past to too many people, because it usually causes a lot of questions and confusion.
It also isn’t stuff I like to bring up, so here goes…
The worst memories I have from my past is my friends passing away.
It hurts when you’re close to someone and they all of a sudden aren’t there anymore.
Keep in mind, three of my friends were killed so it hurt more because that meant there was someone out there that was responsible.
I tend to cry nowadays when i’m stressed out or all alone, because the memories come rushing back.
I used to be sad a lot, but I have to move on with my life at some point because I love my life as well!
I am a sensitive person, so I do cry over a lot of stuff or get in my feelings a lot, hehe.
But I felt this memory/these memories are ones that a lot of people might’ve experienced, such as someone close to them dying.
Not exactly in the way I experienced it, but maybe due to cancer or such.
I think the main thing to remember is that they all loved you and they’d want you to be happy.


It is odd but I cry when I think about people who make selfless sacrifices putting their life on the line or dying to help others.
I have an old friend who passed away in the year 2,000 by the name of William Crawford.
He won the Medal of Honor posthumously in WWII.
He was not actually dead and returned to America after the war.
He was one of America’s greatest heroes of all time.
When I think of what he did, it brings tears to my eyes.
I have the same feelings about other Medal of Honor recipients.
If you are interested, google: Medal of Honor William Crawford to see what makes me emotional.


Not memories, I suppose, but coming across old pictures or videos of my father when he was not ill.
He died at the hands of a degenerative neuromuscular disorder that robbed him of most of his movement and his voice very quickly.
My family spent several years fighting to save him as the disorder wasted him away, long enough that at times it becomes hard to remember what he was like before then.

When I see him or hear him before that time, it still makes me terribly sad, even some 20 years since he's passed.
I miss him, he didn't deserve the cruel death that he was given and we didn't deserve to forget the man that he was.
But the process of life doesn't discriminate, sometimes you end up with the tough end of nature's wrath; she does as she must.

We've all survived and moved on to do well for ourselves and see our own families begin and grow.
Nothing would've made him happier.
So at least we can live knowing that.


They have this blissful ignorance about them that makes them oblivious to many of our flaws, willingly embracing us for who we are, a loyalty that isn’t precipitated on anything.

Their obliviousness extends all the way to the last moment of their life, when they are suddenly happy, wondering why they are surrounded by people all of a sudden.

Saying goodbye is quite hard, harder than you’d think.

Dogs.


Do you have a memory that makes you cry every time you think of it?
I still laugh about it.

Lorraine ( my sis ) and I shared a bedroom, we had a wardrobe which we called the tardis, it was 2ft by 2ft.

She shut me in it, in my panic I tipped it over, door side down.
( age about 7) then she legged it.

Getting crumpled by clothes, in the dark, gave me the heebie jeebies, I'm still frightened about small spaces to this day.
Thanks Lou.

So yes, every time I think about my sister makes me laugh, totally nuts.

Stuck her big toe into a bath tap, just because…then wondered why it was stuck.


Lots of memories make me laugh.
But some are sad or nostalgic for things that will never be again.
As the oldest and only living member of my original family I often miss my parents and brothers.
But when I do I also feel lucky to have had so many good experiences and successes during my time here on earth and to still be able to continue to have them now each day that have.
I am very lucky to still be able to enjoy each day with my sweet, delicious, loving woman of a wife that I am so very, very fortunate to have.


All the memories that I have with my grandmother.
She was a wonderful lady who has taken care of over 100 foster kids, and adopted 2 of them.
She passed on August 20, (year kept secret by me) and lived a wonderful life in Westport, Ca, had 7 kids, (including adopted ones) and had about 8 grandchildren, and 4 great grandchildren.


Men don’t cry.
We fight and win or we die.


How is the answer going to help you? I volunteer here to try and help.
I am not here to provide amusement.


Any memory involving my dad or my grandpa.


Do you have a memory that makes you cry every time you think of it?


The answer to this question used to be my grandpa’s death.
I could write another answer about that story, too, but.
.
whatever.

The weird thing is, we weren’t really that close, either.
We never even had a meaningful conversation before, as we really only go to see my grandparents at holidays.
But I still cared.

Thats the thing about family, or just people that you care about in general—sometimes you can just deeply care about someone.
.
even if you don’t really have any specific reasons.
*ahem*
But that’s not the story I’m trying to tell.
They say you’ve healed when you can recall and tell a story that used to make you cry, without crying.
So, I’ve healed from that experience.

The experience that makes me cry or tear up every time I think about it is right after his funeral.
We were hanging out with my step grandmother at her house, and I was sitting in the car when we were getting ready to leave so she could let her dog back in the house (I’m terrified of dogs.
.
yes the most annoying phobia ever dogs are literally everywhere), and my dad came to the door of the backseat.

He opened it to talk to me….
and looked at the funeral flyer with my grandpa’s name, time of birth & death on it.
The way he looked at that thing… and then looked at me, tears in his eyes.
He was almost smiling, trying to fight them back.
To be strong in front of me.
And then he said something that shattered my heart in a second.

”I.
.
can’t believe my daddy’s gone, Rae.

It didnt help that that’s what I called him.
.
that made me imagine what it’d be like if I was in his position.
If I lost my dad.
My hero.
The guy I look up to as a roll model and wanna be just like when I grow up.
That makes me want to break down and cry every time I think about it.


“Everytime memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks “.

Everyone have a memory that makes them cry either it's a happy or bad memories.
.
I too have a lots of memories that often make me cry .
When something is closed to you ,you suddenly feel that you going to loose it or something u have dreamt of and output of that comes into a wrong way .
.
It hurts you n make you feel cry out aloudly .
But thing is that “ does it matter to anyone ?“ no , no one is going to bother for you.
.
Either it's a feeling or moments when it becomes memories , it echo's in my heart with a pain .

“Crying is how your heart speaks when your lips can't explain the pain you feel” .

It’s very strange looking through old photographs or thinking about past because they make me feel both happy and sad at the same time.
But now I mostly just feel sad.
Maybe because I was so happy back then.
Does that make sense? It’s kind of ironic that happy memories are the ones that make you the most sad.
It’s more of the tender kind of sadness that where these days has been lost.
It’s the kind of sad when you look through pictures and you realize that those are moments you can never get back and times that you can never revisit.
They are just memories.
Frozen moments captured in time.
I don’t know why or how to explain it.
But yes memories always making me cry .

# latenight # memories haunts # u n me .
.


I do have a memory and I am crying right now.
First let me say this I never meant to fall in love with this guy.
I am dude my self and I always thought that I digged chicks.
Then one day me and the person who I consider to be the love of my life found our passion in each other.
It happened after a game of tennis and fooling around.
It felt so right and we both wanted each other very much.
But society would not allow us to be together and we had to hide our love from the world.
He was the most passionate lover I have ever had and he cared for me deeply.
We had each other’s backs and more.
We could be who we were with each other and I enjoyed that.
He told me there would always be a place in his heart for me after we went out to eat at Arbys.
We exchanged caps afterward and the longest passionate kiss ever.
I miss him right now and my life would never be the same without him.
So long Amigo M…my crazy stallion friend.
JM



I have a recent memory, each time I think of it I feel so sad and miserable.

Last year, I was on a night-shift in the cardiology wards.
That the same day, Morocco defeated another soccer team and got elected to play in Russia.
( don’t ask me cause I ignore anything about football).

That day, I arrived earlier than expected, so I found the previous team that assured the day-shift getting ready to call it a day.
We were talking when suddenly, one patient, a woman in her 50s I guess started suffocating, she was suffering, so we asked her daughter politely to leave the room and called the residents.

The doctors came, turned out she was having a heart attack.
Just when they were starting the CPR, the power went down.
Guess what? It was only in the ICU.
While in other places, there was no problem.

And another bad luck, was that her heart monitor didn't have a battery, so we had to bring an EKG and check her heart manually.

Here I was holding a torch and inspecting the EKG with my other friend, while the previous team was preforming CPR, and residents were inserting the external defibrillator.

We tried for,I guess 30 minutes to 1 hour.
But unfortunately,she didn’t make it and we had to announce her death to the daughter who was waiting there hoping that her mom will fight and stay alive.

And just as we were announcing her death, the power came back on.
A weird coincidence
I still can’t understand what happened.

The saddest part was hearing her daughter crying and suffering, while people outside were celebrating our victory.

It was a strange and sad night shift.
A year passed now,but I still remember every little detail of it, and I don’t think I will ever forget it.


Only one – and it’s a slightly secondhand memory!
I was tidying up recently, and came across a scrap of paper on which I had written (I think about five years ago) brief notes about a dream I’d had.
I don’t recall having this dream, but the description was so vivid that just reading it reduced me to tears, and every time I think of it, it does so again.

In my dream, I was in my grandparents’ garden, which I last saw in 1972, shortly after my grandmother died.
My daughter, who was born about 10 years after that, and is now in her thirties, came running along the garden path as a little girl of about two or three.
She clambered up the stone steps and called out, “Granny!” and ran towards my grandmother.
“No,” I explained, “Great-granny.
Your real Granny is over there,” and turned, to see my mother, who died in 1962 when I was only a child, standing there.

I moved to her and we embraced each other, standing there crying, for all the years we hadn’t had.
The tears woke me out of my dream – and every time I think of this, I’m on the verge of tears again.

Silly, isn’t it? At the time, I hardly cried at all!


It was Grade 12, and graduation was around the corner and everything was looking bright for everyone in my class.
Then one of my best friends got seriously hurt in a snowboard accident on box day and was in a coma for 14 days, after he came out he had no memory of anything.
After a friend and I visited him in hospital for the first time ( we saw him the day after he broke his coma), we decided to visit him every week ( I celebrated my 18th Birthday by his bedside) for several hours and help him get his memory back.
I took notes that I heard helped him be able released from hospital early because I accurately tracked his progress in memory and functions, long story short he was in hospital for 3 months but was unable to graduate on time but he still walked the stage with my class.
That is one of the reasons that my memories of my grade 12 year brings tears to my eyes.
The worst part of grade 12 came in the passing of my grandmother who I was really close with all throughout my life a mere 4 weeks from graduation which she had planned to see for the past 5 years, she even planned all her medical appointments( she needed dialysis).
She used to call every weekend and ask if I had been pick as valedictorian yet and ask if I picked my University, she passed away 2 days before me being picked as valedictorian and being offered a full ride at university.
That’s my sob story for the day.
Cheers!


Absolutely.
I have several.
I remember the worst one, the one that I cannot escape from, it was my grandfathers funeral.
He was my best friend and made me the person I am today.
So when I went to his funeral, unable to even look at him, I have that memory.
I have the memory of me looking away instead of getting that last memory of him.
I wish I had said my goodbyes.
I wish I had gotten my closure.
But I never did.
I also still have the memory of the code red at my old school.
I remember looking at my classmates.
They were all scared of dying, but I didn’t know what to think.
Turned out it was just a mistake and someone was playing around with it.
I have the memory of uncertainty.
I remember remembering all of my memories in that moment.
But one of them that I will probably never forget, was when my little brother was adopted.
I cry every time I think of it.


I wish it was just one.

Losing someone you care for – at the beginning of their lives – and at the begining of your life with them – still brings me to tears in ways that the loss of 70 and 80 and 90 year old family members and life time friends don't do once I have grieved for them.

But when my 25 year old bride – blessed by a ceremony filled with love but not yet with a license – suddenly passed in another state, just a year later, carrying our first son – for decades, I had to fight against remembering the pain and the sorrow and the unfairness of a world that could allow this to happen.

And just when I finally began to forget the pain – decades later -I heard our song – and fell apart.
But, then for the first time I tried to write about her, and slowly, she began to come alive again – and, soon, when I thought about her, I was able to remember the good times.

But, even now – when thinking about those good times, the tears still flow.
And they, probably – always will.


Even though I’m writing this anonymously, I’m still going to be vague.
And to be honest, my understanding of this experience is half-baked and I suspect it will be years until I fully process it.

I recently discovered I’m a funny entertainer.
2.
5 years ago if someone had told me I’d be traveling around the world to study with acclaimed funny people and would make rooms of people laugh hysterically, I’d have thought they were bonkers.

I found this out because I was sad, alone, friendless, felt shame/disgust about myself and appearance (I still battle with this – I’m good looking I’m told), and had left a religious environment I was deeply involved with.
I knew no one was at fault but me.
I wanted to die but I knew I didn’t have it in me to kill myself and I still felt some grit to keep up the fight.
So one night I was mindlessly watching an online comedy series.
Each episode featured a different actor.
The very last one took my breath away and made me cry.
It made me feel unafraid of being alone anymore and I had a sense of hope.
The actor’s eyes were so kind and he haunted me.
I looked him up and learned he had a specific kind of training and that he taught workshops on it.
Some of his workshops were in Europe.
I felt this pull in my gut to go to him and learn.
It wasn’t emotional.
It was a calm and certain feeling.
I wanted to learn more about his specific teachings but also to meet him.
I wanted to deal with my shame and sense of ugliness by standing on stage in front of strangers.
Make them look at me cause I couldn’t look at myself.
It was a reckoning.
I’d never been outside of my country before and I bought my passport so I could go to his workshop.

I was excited and nervous but I kept an objective perspective about the whole thing.
I’d never been around actors – let alone spent much time with people outside my religion – so I knew it was possible he could be not so great in person.
Maybe a jerk.
Maybe full of himself.
Maybe actors were evil.
You get the idea.

The very first day of the workshop at lunch, the actor (the person from the show) came running up to me and told me I was good, a natural, that I have the right spirit, and he asked me if I thought I got his teachings and understood them.
I was dumbfounded.
I had suspected I might have been funny because I made the room laugh multiple times.
And the other actors weren’t getting laughs like I was.
Later that day, after another comedy exercise, in front of the whole class he called what I did “genius” and said it was the best thing done the whole day.
I remember thinking to myself in that moment, “He made me laugh and cry so hard and here is laughing hard right back at me”.
It felt unreal.
He made me stay on stage and told me to feel the love I was getting from the group.
I kept trying to leave and he asked me why I was leaving and made me stay while he praised me.
Finally, he told me I could leave.
Basically, the whole week was like that – he treated me this way.
They all laughed at me.
He’d stare at me with these warm glowing eyes.
Et cetera.
By the end of the week I burst into tears of happiness.
I’d never felt love and acceptance like that before.
I felt understood and like I belonged.
I didn’t know how I deserved such a loving experience.
And I’m still confused I had the intuition to go for an extreme experience that ended up being positive and changed my life.

I’ve been to other similar workshops since and I’ve received similar reactions.
I’m in a world I belong now.
I still cry when I think about how it all unfolded.
There are many more details to my story, this is an extremely abridged version :)


When I was 22 years old, I chose to and was called to serve an 18 month full-time mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
I was to serve in Italy, Milan.
My family was living in Tennessee at the time.
In August 1995 I served for 2 months in the training center in Provo, Utah to learn the lessons and the language.
At that time, we could only speak to our family twice/year—Mother’s Day and Christmas and the only other communication was writing letters (not email).

In October 1995 I was on my way.
I had a three-hour layover at the JFK airport in NY before boarding the flight to Milan.
At that time, non-passengers could walk up to the gates to see people off or pick them up.
When I got off the plane at JFK, I felt this arm wrap around my shoulders and gave me the biggest hug.
My tall, 6′3″ dad, my biggest fan and my best friend, had driven all the way from Tennessee to New York to spend that three hour layover with me before I served my mission.
Those three hours meant everything to me.
I knew I wouldn’t see him again for over another year.

My release date was February 1997 and my parents were going to come to Italy to pick me up and we would tour for a few days before returning home.
In December 1996, my dad had an unexpected heart attack and died.

Those three hours that came from that long drive of sacrifice from Tennessee to New York made by my dad was the last time I saw him.
The last memory I have of him.
That was the last hug I had from him.
I cherish those three hours more than any other time in my life.

He is still my hero.
I stayed on my mission, I even extended a month and came home in March 1997 because I was doing what I knew he would want me to do.
He was so proud of me and I didn’t want to let him down.
I worked hard, I did my best and I have no regrets.
I know he is pleased with my decision to stay and work for the Lord instead of coming home early.

When I see him again, I’ll get another one of his big hugs.
I love you, dad!


I remember sitting on the bed crying my eyes out because my husband was treating our children and I so badly.
I begged him to tell me what was wrong and to go to his family if he couldnt talk to me.
I literally begged him.
Saying “look at me.
See how bad I’m hurting".
He only sat next to me not saying a word or meeting my eyes.

Of course he was cheating with a co-worker whom he eventually moved in with and married.
That was 15 years ago and we were only married 12 years.
It took around 8 years for me to date.
But now I can casually text with him, mostly about our adult daughters and grandkids.
But that moment, sitting on the bed being torn apart and seeing his impassive response still makes my chest hurt, my eyes burn and swallowing impossible.


One day when I was in high school I was on the city bus.
And I saw this man with four children, who were apparently his, and he seemed to love them kids more than anything in the world.

The reason this touched me so much is because I always heard stories going up about how black men weren't shit and how they always leave women when they get pregnant.
So me being young and impressionable and in high school, to see this man with all his children, and you could tell that he was doing it alone, that he had no help.
He was doing the best he could.
You could tell they were poor, but he just wasn't going to give up on his kids and everytime I think about that it just touches me.
It was the saddest and most beautiful thing I've ever seen.


I usually don’t talk about my past to too many people, because it usually causes a lot of questions and confusion.
It also isn’t stuff I like to bring up, so here goes…
The worst memories I have from my past is my friends passing away.
It hurts when you’re close to someone and they all of a sudden aren’t there anymore.
Keep in mind, three of my friends were killed so it hurt more because that meant there was someone out there that was responsible.
I tend to cry nowadays when i’m stressed out or all alone, because the memories come rushing back.
I used to be sad a lot, but I have to move on with my life at some point because I love my life as well!
I am a sensitive person, so I do cry over a lot of stuff or get in my feelings a lot, hehe.
But I felt this memory/these memories are ones that a lot of people might’ve experienced, such as someone close to them dying.
Not exactly in the way I experienced it, but maybe due to cancer or such.
I think the main thing to remember is that they all loved you and they’d want you to be happy.


It is odd but I cry when I think about people who make selfless sacrifices putting their life on the line or dying to help others.
I have an old friend who passed away in the year 2,000 by the name of William Crawford.
He won the Medal of Honor posthumously in WWII.
He was not actually dead and returned to America after the war.
He was one of America’s greatest heroes of all time.
When I think of what he did, it brings tears to my eyes.
I have the same feelings about other Medal of Honor recipients.
If you are interested, google: Medal of Honor William Crawford to see what makes me emotional.


Not memories, I suppose, but coming across old pictures or videos of my father when he was not ill.
He died at the hands of a degenerative neuromuscular disorder that robbed him of most of his movement and his voice very quickly.
My family spent several years fighting to save him as the disorder wasted him away, long enough that at times it becomes hard to remember what he was like before then.

When I see him or hear him before that time, it still makes me terribly sad, even some 20 years since he's passed.
I miss him, he didn't deserve the cruel death that he was given and we didn't deserve to forget the man that he was.
But the process of life doesn't discriminate, sometimes you end up with the tough end of nature's wrath; she does as she must.

We've all survived and moved on to do well for ourselves and see our own families begin and grow.
Nothing would've made him happier.
So at least we can live knowing that.


They have this blissful ignorance about them that makes them oblivious to many of our flaws, willingly embracing us for who we are, a loyalty that isn’t precipitated on anything.

Their obliviousness extends all the way to the last moment of their life, when they are suddenly happy, wondering why they are surrounded by people all of a sudden.

Saying goodbye is quite hard, harder than you’d think.

Dogs.


Do you have a memory that makes you cry every time you think of it?
I still laugh about it.

Lorraine ( my sis ) and I shared a bedroom, we had a wardrobe which we called the tardis, it was 2ft by 2ft.

She shut me in it, in my panic I tipped it over, door side down.
( age about 7) then she legged it.

Getting crumpled by clothes, in the dark, gave me the heebie jeebies, I'm still frightened about small spaces to this day.
Thanks Lou.

So yes, every time I think about my sister makes me laugh, totally nuts.

Stuck her big toe into a bath tap, just because…then wondered why it was stuck.


Lots of memories make me laugh.
But some are sad or nostalgic for things that will never be again.
As the oldest and only living member of my original family I often miss my parents and brothers.
But when I do I also feel lucky to have had so many good experiences and successes during my time here on earth and to still be able to continue to have them now each day that have.
I am very lucky to still be able to enjoy each day with my sweet, delicious, loving woman of a wife that I am so very, very fortunate to have.


All the memories that I have with my grandmother.
She was a wonderful lady who has taken care of over 100 foster kids, and adopted 2 of them.
She passed on August 20, (year kept secret by me) and lived a wonderful life in Westport, Ca, had 7 kids, (including adopted ones) and had about 8 grandchildren, and 4 great grandchildren.


Men don’t cry.
We fight and win or we die.


How is the answer going to help you? I volunteer here to try and help.
I am not here to provide amusement.


Any memory involving my dad or my grandpa.

Updated: 16.06.2019 — 6:02 pm

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