25 y/o woman from MA, currently in BrooklynI began writing these entries when my father died of cancer in October of 2023. I keep writing them because I have an insatiable need to document. And because grief doesn't go away, it just changes. I need to remember all the forms.tw: grief, parental loss, cancer, hospitals & thoughts about death in all its forms
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Table of Contents
Background Information / History
The Entries are not posted in order. Here they are chronologically:
Entry 1 - Evening of November 15th, 2023
Entry 13 - Afternoon of February 28th, 2024
Entry 22 - Morning of April 29th, 2024
Entry 40 - Evening of October 5th, 2024
Entry 54 - Morning of January 23rd, 2025
Entry 64 - Morning of March 31st, 2025
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#dealing with grief#original writing#stream of conscious writing#writeblr#writers on tumblr#family tragedy#generational trauma#grief#loss of a loved one#writing
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#dealing with grief#original writing#stream of conscious writing#writers on tumblr#writeblr#writing#grief#loss of a loved one#loss of a parent#death of a parent
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#dealing with grief#original writing#family tragedy#writers on tumblr#diary#illness#trauma#stream of conscious writing#writing#writeblr#generational trauma
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#dealing with grief#generational trauma#thoughts on death#stream of conscience#stream of consciousness#stream of conscious writing#original writing#writeblr#writers on tumblr#family tragedy#grief tw#tw death
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#original writing#writers on tumblr#writeblr#parental loss#grief#dealing with grief#tw grief#loss#family tragedy#death in the family
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Background
My grandfather died of malignant melanoma exactly a week after my father's 12th birthday at age 39. My grandfather left behind my grandmother and my aunts, both younger than my father. Their family imploded with the departure of my grandfather.
For the next 27 years of my father's life he was convinced that he would die at 39, too, like his fate had been decided by his father's. At 18 he wrote: “I refuse to go through life just to be forgotten”. When he watched his father fade from the world at such a young age, my father took that to mean he too would disappear. Except he didn't die at 39. He lived for 23 more years before he died of acute myeloid leukemia.
I was born a few months after he turned 39, the middle of what would be three children. I was 17 when he first was diagnosed with AML, a senior in high school and ever unsure of my future. He died after six long years of fighting—gaining some ground before being swept back out into the sea. His illness and death was the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
I now live like he did at my age, wondering if I, too, will die and leave my family to hurt in my wake. Or if one of my siblings will.
My grandmother passed in May 2023. My father's youngest sister passed from complications of colon cancer in March 2025. Our family has dug three graves in two years.
So I have to write about my thoughts. It's the only way to release some of the pressure inside my chest, chewing up my insides.
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