Topics | Grief | The Sun Magazine

Topics

Browse Topics

Grief

Fiction

Beachcombers In Doggerland

As he watches his daughter vanish in one direction and his wife in another, he thinks whatever it was that once held his family together has long since gone the way of that doomed landmass, swallowed by the sea.

By Miles Harvey October 2022
Fiction

Inmates

We’d been divorced for almost six years when my ex-wife called and asked if I’d like to live in the bottom apartment of her duplex. I had been moving from place to place, exhausting welcome after welcome, until I’d wound up at my parents’ house, but even they had had enough of me. Sure, they told me, David had died, and they doubted I would ever get over it, but skulking around their house day in and day out was no cure for grief.

By Daniel DiStefano September 2022
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Messages

In the months following Mom’s death in February 2021, I tried to get her to say something to me, to speak to me. If anyone could communicate from beyond, I thought, it was her.

By Morgan Talty August 2022
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Luminescence

In the backseat on long car rides home from my grandmother’s house in southern Illinois, I cataloged light sources in the dark: gazing at flare towers burning above oil wells, watching the taillights of faster cars shrink to pinpoints, following the sweep of flood lamps up the domes of concrete grain silos.

By Steve Edwards August 2022
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Hey, Man

You’d donated most of your organs, so the body in your coffin was basically a scarecrow version of you. . . . Thank God they don’t do brain transplants, I thought. Anybody who’d gotten your brain would’ve woken up from surgery a total asshole. I heard you laughing at this. I could remember your laugh really well. It was a letdown that I could hear it only in my head.

By John Paul Scotto August 2022
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Grief Almanac For An Apocalypse

To live long enough in this world means to learn to nestle the twins of grief and hope in your arms. I tuck the bottle of fertility medication next to the black dress I bought for my mother’s funeral. We plant a white pine in the yard, in view of the window of our empty nursery.

By Jacquelyn Gill August 2022
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Siri Tells A Joke

My husband had been sick long enough, a string of years, that I’d begun to think of his diagnosis as a rumor. He was interminably terminally ill. Until he wasn’t.

By Debra Gwartney June 2022
Poetry

What I Didn’t Say

And I didn’t say there is no philosophy of life that covers this / I didn’t say how am I supposed to breathe when you stop

By Beverly Hartz April 2022
The Dog-Eared Page

Riding Out At Evening

At dusk, everything blurs and softens. / From here out over the long valley, / the fields and hills pull up / the first slight sheets of evening, / as, over the next hour,  / heavier, darker ones will follow.

By Linda McCarriston February 2022
Poetry

The Cardinal Reminds Me

It sweeps and arcs across my path / almost every day on my walk to the cafe, / under sun or cloud, its red / seeming lit from inside, a brightness / bold as the lipstick my mother wore

By Andrea Potos February 2022