When I arrived at my uncles house was to not go into his daughters room, on my way to the guest room I looked through the keyhole and saw an eye staring back at me. My uncles daughter passed away 2 years ago
My teenage daughter came running to me this evening, yelling about some silly bracelet she seemed to have lost. I didn’t know what she was talking about until she described the thing: A simple string of pearls. Oh, I thought as it slowly came back. It’s the one she wore on her wrist–when she was buried.
My Daughter keeps asking me why I am so sad.
My daughters been dead for 4 years.
a women just put her daughter to sleep she left the door open and went to her room that was opposite of her daughters room. while she was removing her make up she heard a voice in the closet saying lets play hide and seek *clap clap* she looked into her daughters room the girl was slepping
Just as I was finished washing the dishes my daughter pulled on my yellow dress and beckoned me to follow her to her room. She still held tightly as I walked into the empty room, remembering that my daughter had died two weeks ago.
There are at least two hundred mass murderers in the world that are still active, the Facebook news story told her.
“Honey, dinner’s ready!” her mother called, entering the room with a carving knife.
As Suzie watched her belly grow, her only hope was that her daughter would be as pretty as she was smart. And this must be where they got the saying, “be careful what you wish for,”—as her daughter was neither.
Sixteen year-old Helen grinned ear to ear, a twinkle in her voracious green eyes, after watching a weather report that showed a cold front about to sweep across America. Maybe now she would get the Corvette Daddy agreed to buy her “when hell freezes over.”
“Sweetie, what on EARTH are you doing?” Claire asked, beyond surprised to see Chelsea, her pig-tailed, freckle-cheeked, pink-shorts-wearing four year-old daughter, hopping repeatedly on one foot for balance while jamming the other down the toilet, two dandelions grasped in one hand while the other worked the flushing lever.
“Well we bringed flowers to Grampa in the hospital yesterday, so now I’m gonna bring flowers to Bubbles,” Chelsea answered matter-of-factly, of course referring to her comrade who had, several weeks ago after a violent incident involving one of his (larger and more aggressive) bowl-mates, been sent via toilet flush to the fishy hospital.