Son, I won’t be home today, so you’ll be the eldest. Vovochka, if something serious happens, call me.

Dad went to work. Half an hour later, a bell rang in his office:

Vovochka? Something happened?

Dad, our Barsik shit on the carpet in the hall!

Well, take it away! Me too, I found a reason to call! - the father got angry and hung up.

A couple of hours later the call came again. Vovochka excitedly whispers into the phone:

Daddy! Some uncle came to our mother.

So... What are they doing?

A couple of minutes ago they came into your bedroom...

So-o-o-o... Vovochka, carefully open the door, look into the bedroom and tell me what’s happening there.

Well... Mom is sitting on the bed, and uncle took off his trousers and squatted down... Dad, I say right away: I won’t clean up after him!

School, first of September. A teacher explains to first-graders the rules of behavior at school:
- Children, during the lesson no one talks, does not shout, or gets up from their place. We all sit quietly. If any of you want to say something, then raise your hand, I'm asking you. All clear?
From the back row, Vovochka reaches out his hand. The teacher says:
- Yes, Vovochka. Do you have any question?
“No,” he answers, “I’m just checking how the system works.”

There is a lesson in progress at school. The teacher asks the children who would like to become what in the future. Mashenka answers first:
- I want to be a veterinarian to help all the little animals, because I love them so much!
- Well done, Mashenka, sit down. Now you, Vitalik. Tell us who do you want to be?
- I want to be an oligarch, so that I have a whole fleet of expensive cars, a yacht, a mansion and a beautiful wife, whom I would spoil in every possible way.
“Wow,” says the teacher. - Apparently, you know what you want from life. Well done Vitalik, sit down. Vovochka, what profession do you want to choose for yourself?
- You know, Mary Ivanna, I always dreamed of becoming a plumber to give people comfort. But now I want to be Vitalik’s wife.

One of Vovochka’s friends told her about how you can blackmail adults.
“You just need to say just one phrase with a serious look: “I know everything,” his friend told him.

Vovochka came home, and there his mother in the kitchen said to him:
- Vovochka, wash your hands, sit down and have lunch.
And he looked at her seriously and said:
- Mom, I know everything!
Mom immediately got scared, took 100 dollars out of her purse, gave them to him and said:
- Here, son, take it. Buy yourself whatever you want. I just beg you - don’t tell your father anything!
Vovochka, having had lunch, went into his father’s room. And he sits quietly and reads the newspaper. Then he saw Vovochka and said:
- Oh, son, you came home from school! Well, tell me, how are you?
And Vovochka answers him in a serious tone:
- Dad, I know everything!
The father turned pale. He immediately took out 200 dollars from his pocket and handed them to Vovochka with the words:
- Here you go, son. Buy yourself something, but don’t tell anyone, understand? Especially mothers!
“Yes, I understand, I understand,” he answered and went to his room.

After some time, the doorbell rang, Vovochka went to answer it. He opens it, and the postman is standing on the threshold.
“Oh, hello, Vovochka,” he says, “A package has arrived for you here... adults at home?”
And Vovochka still answers him with the same serious look:
- Uncle postman, I know everything!
The postman immediately fell to his knees, dropping his bag. A tear ran down his cheek. He opened his hands and said:
- Well, go, son, hug your daddy!

In a Moscow school, a teacher addresses the class:
- Well, children, today we will talk about your parents. Let's find out together what your parents do and how they benefit society. For example, Mashenka, where does your dad work?
Masha gets up and arrogantly answers:
- My dad is an oligarch! He has a lot of money and he can buy everything at any time. And then just as quickly, if necessary, sell everything!
- Okay, Mashenka, sit down. Petya, who does your dad work for?
Petya stands up and says:
- And my dad is a security officer! FSB guy! He can twist anyone and imprison him for any period of time!
- Well, it’s clear, Petya. Thank you, sit down. Vovochka, what is your dad’s job?
Vovochka stands up and, looking at the floor, says:
- My dad dances near the pole in the club at night in his panties. And all these oligarchs, FSB officers come there, look at him and shove their money into his underpants. And in the morning he brings home a whole wad of money that they gave him.
Just then the bell rings, everyone jumps up, and recess begins. During recess, the teacher calls Vovochka over and says:
- Vovochka, did you tell the truth about your father’s work?
“No, of course, Mary Ivanna, I was joking,” he answers, lowering his voice, “It was just awkward for me to tell the boys that my dad plays for our football team.”

Does dad work a lot? Or should I go on a business trip again? Or maybe he comes to the baby only on weekends, because now he lives separately? All these circumstances dictate special rules of behavior for you.

January 17, 2012 · Text: Svetlana Zabegailova· Photo: Shutterstock

Yes, it is difficult for a father to establish full communication with his child when he constantly returns late at night or flies on business trips. Of course, to successfully combine a career and raising a child will require a little more effort, patience and zeal, but the result is worth it. It is known that dads play a huge role in raising a child. Mom is the baby’s whole world, cozy, warm, dear, giving security, bringing love and comfort when necessary.

What about dad? The father is everything else: this is the path to maturity, this is freedom and inner strength - a huge world that also exists! There, outside the cozy family nest. The world of things that you need to know, in which you need to learn to live. The main task of the father is to try to give the child maximum attention based on the circumstances in which he finds himself, and you must help him with this. You need to try to build a trusting, friendly relationship with the baby so that he grows up confident that his dad loves him very much.

Work is a wolf!

Today's parents work a lot. But increasingly, along with a successful career, we acquire a number of problems associated with a lack of free time. It is difficult to give your child your attention and participate in his upbringing when we are constantly talking about irregular working hours, overtime or business trips. The statistics are inexorable. About 45% of highly paid employees of large companies spend 60, 70 and even 100 hours a week in the office, take a 10-day vacation no more than once a year and are ready to postpone or miss many important events in the life of their own family due to the rush at work.

But an organized life is not everything, or rather, far from the most important thing. The most important purpose of money is freedom, but the most difficult task is still to be free from its fetters when owning wealth. Therefore, first try to analyze what you have to sacrifice for this particular job and can you achieve your goal by participating in this cruel marathon?

Often the primary goal for a dad who gets a job is “the well-being of his family,” but it also happens that over time this goal is lost, replaced by “just well-being,” from which it is that very family that suffers the most. Because a busy work schedule creates friction in the family and causes irreparable damage to the intimate life of the spouses. Because the children of successful careerists are glued to the TV, eat poorly, are not independent and willful. And, finally, because millions of highly paid professionals around the world are at risk of losing their health due to long working hours and excessive workload.

A woman in a family can greatly influence her husband’s attitudes and direction. It is in her power to help her husband slow down, change guidelines, change direction; it is the wife who can create or destroy. It is noteworthy that biblical parables say a lot about grumpy wives and nothing about grumpy husbands. Therefore, no matter how difficult it may be for you to look after the house while your father is “hunting mammoths,” try to do without reproaches: in the end, the husband works for the benefit of the children and in the name of the family, and this should not be underestimated. You just need to help your loved one understand what exactly is good in your family, support your husband in his achievements, helping him not to lose this goal on the path to your happiness.

Dad comes home late from work

What should you do? Adhere to the main principle: communication should be as intense as possible.

What does it mean? First of all, don't isolate yourself. Tell your husband more about what is happening in the house: how the child behaved today, how he took his first steps, where he walked, what he was doing. Tell us about how your baby learned to be cunning, how he is teething, how he learns to eat on his own and loves to play in the water. Share your happiness with your husband, help him always feel involved in the events that happen to his baby. Make every effort to involve dad in raising the baby, to instill in his heart pride in his child, a desire to become attached to little man, to feel how nice it is to be a father.

Secondly, constantly tell your baby about his dad. Do not apologize to the child for the fact that the father comes late, otherwise he will really feel like an orphan. Explain clearly to your child why dad is forced to work from morning to evening. But don’t say something like: “He works hard so that you don’t need anything,” and don’t lay the blame for dad’s busyness on the children’s shoulders. When talking about his work or talking with your husband, do not complain about his workload or fatigue: instead of the child starting to feel sorry for his father or mother, cultivate respect for the work that the father does, pride in his intelligence, professional competence and energy. Talk about the benefits that dad brings, about how interesting his work is, talk about his successes, about what he does for others, but you should keep silent about failures.

And lastly: everything possible must be done so that dad can communicate with his baby and be present in his life. During breaks, he can call the baby and ask about his affairs, and not so much about his successes as about the child’s state of mind, his friends, and life experiences. Even if the baby is silent and does not yet know how to talk, answer for the baby, let him hear how they talk about him and how his mother answers for him, tell the child what dad answered, how happy he is for him. Let your husband know: his call is a significant event for the child. He convinces the baby that dad misses him and constantly thinks about him.

Dads need to understand: it's not about adding up and counting. After all, for a baby to feel that he is loved, the most important thing is to feel that you are responsive, take into account his needs and interests, and feel a sense of community with you. And this awareness is very valuable: one can say that half the path has already been passed, the matter remains only for the little things...

When leaving for work, your husband can draw small cards for the baby or leave short letters that you can then read to your child. It is not necessary to communicate something important, you can write: “Hello, my sunshine!” - or draw this sun. Yes, and you and your child can cook for dad during the day little present- this will brighten up the wait. When leaving for work, you can hide little surprises for your son or daughter, so that the child can find them by chance in a pocket, closet, under a pillow or in a child’s backpack. Then he will miss his dad less. Apple, chocolate, ball, bubble“from dad”, calls, postcards and notes - all these techniques will constantly create the illusion of the father’s presence in the baby’s life. However, try not to overuse gift shopping and expensive toys. This does not compensate for the lack of a father, but can create additional problems in the relationship between father and child - nevertheless, his attention is more important for the baby.

On a day off, dad can sit with the baby, give him a bath, read a fairy tale - the baby has been waiting patiently for this moment for a long time. When the father is at home, do not step aside, wanting them to talk one-on-one: the child should feel that you are one family.

What should be said?“When dad comes home from work, he will definitely look into your bedroom to kiss you, and tomorrow he will tell you when he returned.”

Dad often goes on business trips

What should you do? In this situation, you can apply the same tips that were mentioned above. Help your baby visualize his dad: “Imagine him coming from the bakery with a baguette...” Encourage your husband to call your baby regularly at the same time, send him emails and cards. Organize their communication via a webcam; it is especially useful to arrange such “video bridges” before the child’s bedtime.

Together with your child, mark crosses on the calendar in anticipation of the day dad returns. This will help him better control the situation.

Do not frighten your child with a strict father in his absence. And don’t be jealous when dad’s return becomes a real holiday for the child. Be prepared for the fact that when he comes home, the baby will literally hang on daddy and will not leave him a single step, constantly checking his presence. The father needs to take the child’s desire to be close to him seriously; there is no need to push the baby away. It’s okay if your husband rests and changes clothes a little later, when the baby is a little satisfied with his attention.

Small things can be very valuable in your case. family traditions that you can come up with together. Any tradition is characterized by regularity: it can be any event, be it joint trips out of town or Saturday lunches. Such traditions do not require special expenses and do not cause difficulties, but they provide an opportunity to feel the unity of all family members, the warmth and care of loved ones. Good customs easily unite all family members, set them on the same wavelength and give a lot of positive emotions. Create rituals that show your love. They can be anything. Just time yours parental concerns By a certain time, a great ritual will come out.

For example: “On Monday after dinner, dad and I draw”; “We go into the forest to the same clearing in different time of the year"; “I wave to dad from the window when he leaves for work”; “They always tell me a fairy tale before going to bed,” etc. Children learn by imitating adults. And as a result, they behave like parents: if you give your child care and love, he will certainly want to do the same. Here is an example of common everyday rituals:

How actively the father will participate in raising the child largely depends on the mother: she will need to become a diplomat

Dad's return from a business trip. When dad arrives, we buy a big cake and spend the whole evening together. Dad gives me souvenirs brought from another city. And then he bathes me and puts me to bed.

Weekend. Dad prepares his signature pizza or mom bakes an apple pie for tea, and before dinner we play lotto.

End or beginning of season. Every winter my dad takes me ice fishing. Every summer our whole family goes to the sea by car. In the fall, we build and hang birdhouses in the forest and feed the ducks at the local pond.

What should be said?“In five days, dad will come and go with me to pick you up from kindergarten. Curl your fingers every day. When you clench your whole hand into a fist, that will be the day he arrives!”

34 replies

My father died on April 18th of this year, 10 days before my eighteenth birthday. To say that this news shocked me is to say nothing. I moved to another city to study in September 2015 and therefore did not see my parents so often (my hometown is located in the ATO zone, so getting there was a problem for some time). I loved my father madly, I remember how on my last visit before leaving he cooked me the most delicious and favorite semolina porridge, and when I left I told him “don’t be sad, daddy, I’ll come soon!” He had a sick heart, but no one thought about death, even he himself never said that he was sick and that something could happen to him. Mom went to work and returned to find him dead. Cardiac arrest, one moment. The day I found out about his death and the next three were hell on Earth. Relatives who came to the funeral just to see each other “in some century” only made it worse, the aunt said “did you see my daughter reposted it in classmates! And she put a photo of it in the frame in the attachment!” Mom was left alone in another city and in a large house, in which everything reminds her of him. I can’t believe it all, I still talk about him in the present tense and I don’t want it any other way. I believe my father is with me, without him I see no point in anything.

I was 13 years old.
In the evening, my mother started having chest pains. As always, she blamed everything on the chondrosis that had been tormenting her for a long time. I smeared ointment on her back and safely went to bed in her room, and my mother went to drink tea in the kitchen.
At night I woke up from the crying of my 2-month-old brother, saw that the light was on in the kitchen, but for some reason I did not attach any importance to it. I rocked my brother to sleep and went back to sleep.
In the morning I woke up to the screams of my father, who was trying to revive my mother. But it's all in vain. Sudden coronary death. She was 39 years old.
To be honest, I for a long time refused to believe what happened. For six months, every time I woke up in the morning, I thought it was horrible dream, but now mom will come into the room and tell me " Good morning". But alas.
After this came the realization of death and further remorse, but I did not have the right to “lose myself”, because I had to raise my brother.
I am eternally grateful to my father, grandmother and aunt, who were there and did not let each other lose heart. I have a wonderful family.
Take care of your loved ones.

I had a very difficult mother, she was incredibly responsive to people and compassionate, but being her daughter is very difficult. She was a bright and emotional person. Due to this, in some ways it really crippled me even in childhood; at times we had a very difficult relationship. But no matter what, I learned to love her and see the good in her. Look at the good and try to ignore the negative. In general, in 22 years, what have we not experienced? I loved her very much. And it’s a shame that I didn’t learn this patience earlier. She passed away in January. And I miss her very much. She left behind a wonderful 5-year-old daughter and a one-and-a-half-year-old son. Now I'm with them. But I will never dare to say that I am in her place. She was amazing.

When she died, I wasn't there. I was sick and was at young man. And dad sailed through Denmark to Baltimore. There were children at home... they called their godfather for help, but it was too late. It was in the evening. Only in the morning did my dad call me. When I woke up and saw a bunch of missed ones, I immediately realized that there was trouble. But I didn’t expect this. She was 42. When I arrived home, she was already in the morgue, I immediately took care of the kids and tried not to think about what happened. I tried to hold on, for the kids and dad. But when I was cooking porridge, everything fell out of hand, and then my mother’s dissatisfied voice appeared in my head, saying that everything should be done wrong. And then a flood of despair washed over me, I almost whined, “Come, take the spoon from me, show me how to do it. Scold me! Just please come.”

Dad was only able to come on the 4th day; they decided to bury him on the 9th. When we arrived at the morgue, my dad told me from the doorway, “Hold on, we’ll get out if we have to, this is not something you can calmly look at.” But when I approached my mother, I didn’t see her. Maybe because of the makeup and unusual clothes, but I didn’t recognize her. There were a lot of people around. About 100 people. And everyone was next to mom. They looked at my father and me and apparently waited for a reaction. It was very difficult for my father. I hope I never see him the same way. But I didn’t know how to behave, I was dumbfounded. I started unpacking the flowers. I didn’t know where to put the paper and some woman I didn’t know came up and took it away. She brought me out of my stupor. People behaved very strangely. Someone roared deliberately, someone told me that I have a wonderful father and he will definitely marry again, someone behaved as if he had come to a party. All this caught the eye, but for some reason not many. Despite the huge number of cars, my dad and I went in a hearse with my mother. Mostly we were silent, Marina’s brothers spoke, on abstract topics. Dad tried to hold on and said that it was a unique hour and a half when mom was in the car, but it was so quiet. And he was right, this silence could not be ignored.

Mom was a believer, so we decided that a funeral service was necessary. Apart from the feeling that this shouldn’t happen, I didn’t experience any other emotions during these 9 days. We stood through the entire service, and then asked to remove the flowers, then we had to close the coffin. I stood at her feet and someone said that in the morgue at her feet they left her photograph and some things that turned out to be unnecessary, from those that dad brought to prepare her for this day. I went to get it and saw her foot in a sock, a special slipper. I took her leg. I didn’t recognize her in her face, but no one painted or touched her leg. And I saw her legs so often. She didn't like socks and slippers. And this was my mother. At that moment it dawned on me, here she is. She lies here. Now they will close the coffin and I will not see her again. I was hysterical. I got into the car and cried there for about five minutes like I had never cried before. It was bitterly cold. January 16.

Almost six months have passed. On the one hand, I was given responsibility for the children, which made me more mature, but on the other hand, it really brought me down. Without her, everywhere she went became empty. To this day, people I don’t know stop me on the street and show me sympathy. I am infinitely pleased that so many people remember her. Take care of your loved ones, we are all not as simple and not as good as we think, but loved ones are close.

And I was 18.

My father died, and I still remember how the news of this frankly shocked me. Despite the fact that I didn’t know him at all: my mother left him as soon as I was one year old (a typical story for the CIS), and subsequently he simply did not appear until I myself took the initiative at the age of 16. And the reason for that initiative was the financial difficulties that I experienced (my mother did not apply for child support). And then somehow for two years we had a market relationship, with periodic, non-reciprocal influxes of tenderness and interest towards him. And so, I’m 18, my grandmother calls, his mother, that is, and reports that he has fallen into a coma. I didn’t find time to go see him at the hospital, apparently I didn’t really want to look for him. And three days later my grandmother called again: “Lyosha, hold on. Dad has died.”

And so, I am standing over the coffin, surrounded by many mourners, and holding a handful of earth in my hands; I let her go and hear a dull knock on the varnished lid of the coffin. I was covered with a huge avalanche of emotions and thoughts, typical for a person in my position: “That’s it. This is the end. I’ll never see him again, I won’t tell him anything”... At first, my consciousness simply rejected this fact, then periodically I it was covered again, but now everything is ok.

The only thing I regret and that sometimes haunts me is that in my entire life I have never told him that I love him and don’t hold a grudge for all those unpleasant moments from childhood that are firmly etched in my memory. And now I really want to do it.

Take care of your parents.

My mom died when I was 25. Cancer. I was 8 months pregnant, maybe this fact eased the pain a little. Of course, it was painful, difficult, I didn’t believe it for a long time. Then there was a feeling that I was left without a head, it took me a very long time to get used to it. Then I realized that, left without my mother, I had grown up irrevocably. They didn’t take me to the funeral, the doctor forbade it, but the next day I was still at the grave, and I felt a little better. After a while, the pain dulled, I got used to the idea that my mother was no more, but I still (8 years have passed) feel regret that my mother never saw my daughters.

My father died when I was 7 years old. Moreover, he died at home and on a holiday. When my mother came into the room and told me, I started crying. They didn’t let me go to the funeral, they left me to play with my cousin. The most interesting thing is that I knew that my father’s funeral was on that day, but I had fun with my sister. Then, when I was 9-10 years old, the thought arose that I was to blame for his death (then, a long time later, I read somewhere that children often blame themselves for the death of their parents). But now quite a lot of time has passed and it has really healed. Of course, growing up in a single-parent family took its toll later, despite the fact that my mother later got married. It may seem cynical, but it’s good that it wasn’t my mother who died, without her it would have been much more difficult.

I was 18 when I became an orphan. My dad passed away when I was 14, and then my mom left too. Cancer took her, at that time she had been ill for six years, and I understood that the inevitable was inevitable, but when it really happened, I didn’t think it would be like this. She left right before my eyes, and when I had to call an ambulance, it came flooding in, I couldn’t say the words “mom died.” There was a shock. I didn’t immediately clearly realize how my life would change. Further, my relatives protected me from everything related to the organization of the funeral; for three days, being left alone for at least half an hour, I began to sob, and the funeral was already allowed. Then - a year and a half on drugs in an attempt to forget, an endless feeling of guilt when I let go and all that. I was able to quit and recovered a little. Three years have passed already. I'm more or less used to living alone, but in any case, it's still sad. I really regret that I can’t introduce my mother to my boyfriend, I think she would like him. I often think about her, and I wonder if there is something after death, does she see me or is this fiction?

I lost my father at 10 years old. That morning, somewhere between 4 and 7 o’clock, I felt very bad, I couldn’t sleep, and bad thoughts came into my head, and I also had to write an Olympiad in Russian at another school. Dad was already in the hospital for the second week. When I returned from school, my seven-year-old second cousin called and asked if I knew that my dad had died. I took it as a joke; after all, my mother would have told me. I immediately call my mother back, asking if this is true, and she says yes in tears. It turned out that he died precisely during those hours when I was tossing and turning without sleep. Then my mother came home from the hospital, along with her friend, who consoled her. And I couldn’t even say anything, it just didn’t fit in my head. Memories immediately flashed back to how badly I spoke to him, often saying “leave me alone.” There was no strength to cry. I went outside, lay down in the snow, looked at the blue sky and asked daddy to come back.

Now, seven years later, his photograph hangs in my room, but I no longer remember him. I don’t remember the smile, the laughter, his voice. Remembering that day immediately brought tears to my eyes.

Love and take care of your parents.

I was 17. My mother was ill, she had to have her leg amputated, but I didn’t know that her illness could be dangerous - I thought they would amputate her, well, there would be a prosthesis. But a thromboembolism happened... First, my father called and said that he was urgently going to get medicine that could help, five minutes later he called back and said that was all. My legs gave way and I screamed. Then I went to tell my sister (she was five years old) and reassure my grandmother. Then call relatives. It was like being delirious. At night I took two tablets of Rododorm to fall asleep. Many years have passed, I still consider this all some kind of bad dream, an error in the program. By and large, I never believed in my mother’s death, although I remember the funeral clearly.

My father died this year. Exactly one day before my 23rd birthday.

The story is quite banal in terms of its prosaic nature. My parents divorced more than 10 years ago, and the relationship with my father and further communication between us did not work out (there were attempts). During all this time, I managed to experience a whole range of feelings: from the deepest hatred and desire to abandon my father, to the awareness of strong love and regret.

I always wanted to keep in touch with him, just spend time together and know that I have a dad and he loves me very much. But this was not the case. He found himself another wife, he had other children, and it seemed to me that there are not only former spouses, there are also former children. I spent my entire teenage period in protracted hatred, then I decided to let go of all the grievances and move on with my life. So she lived, with a part of herself torn away. A few more years passed, and I realized that it was not easy for him either: he took a wife with 2 children and had two of his own, he worked alone, he had to look for every opportunity to earn something and there was not enough time and energy for anything else. But this also seemed to me an unconvincing reason. But the relationship with his grandparents (his parents) is good (we communicate constantly). And on the occasion of my grandmother’s anniversary a year ago, I saw my dad; that was our last meeting. I had mixed feelings: he seemed like a stranger to me, and I wanted to pick on him all the time, and at the same time I was very glad to see him (impossible to explain in words). He offered his help in everyday matters, but somehow it didn’t come to that, and I don’t even remember why... we became hopelessly strangers and were unable to learn to communicate with each other.

And then the day came before my birthday. Grandma calls: “Hold on, your folder is gone.” The first reaction is silence, then tears, then only thoughts and questions: “how?”, “why?”. Before the funeral, I didn’t feel anything, I didn’t cry, I didn’t spend my birthday at all. But when I saw everything with my own eyes, I realized: the line had been passed. Now, for sure, nothing will ever get better, everything... While saying goodbye to him, I involuntarily burst out: “We couldn’t, daddy!”

This is what I now understood, after his death: he loved me very much, but he was ashamed to appear in my life, because he thought that he could not give me anything... in vain he thought so, very in vain... And I I really regret that I never told him this: “I love you very much simply because you exist.”

And the moral to everything is this: don’t be afraid of being rejected or misunderstood. There is nothing worse than unspoken words to people who are not with us...

I was 10 years old - my dad was leaving on a business trip and was about to return. But he was still not there, and, having fallen asleep, the next morning I went to school. Mom took me away, unusually silent and closed - at that moment something skipped a beat in the child’s intuition. On the first day, no one said anything to me, and I felt the most terrible resentment, even rage that everyone was hiding something from me, and the bad feeling intensified with each passing hour. Unable to bear the burden of thoughts, in a fit of (childish) rage and anger, I took my mother’s phone, dialed my father’s number once, twice, three times... No answer. Mom comes into the room, takes me by the hand and says in a very weak voice: “Dad won’t come.” At that moment I felt terrible bitterness and the realization that I would never hear his voice again. She cried a lot, unconsciously tried to distract herself - she drew, played the piano. Whenever someone came to me, she asked to leave me alone.

Dad and I loved each other incredibly. Of course, my mother managed to play both the role of father and mother in my upbringing, for which I am incredibly grateful to her, but I still feel different problems that have opened up with age. And sometimes I’m still overcome with terrible melancholy from thoughts like: “He never saw how I grew up.”

Hug your parents more often.

My father and I weren't the best better relationship. On September 10, 2014, he was getting ready for work, drinking coffee, and watching TV. We left the house together. he starts the car, we exchange one word. “Bye,” I say, “Bye,” he answers. The next day, September 11, 2014, I slept for half a day when I came home from school. I woke up from hearing someone open the door. “Dad came after 24 hours,” I thought and slowly began to get up. I was mistaken, on the threshold I saw my mother all in tears. but I was sleepy and couldn’t figure out what happened. Mom silently looked at me through her tears and said: “Dad died.” I don’t know what was wrong with me at that moment, but then I didn’t feel anything. This is the worst thing. I, completely unaware of this, silently went to wash myself, only in a slight daze. Going to bed, I thought: “What nonsense, tomorrow morning he will come home from work at 9 o’clock as usual.” and in the morning he never came. And then it seemed to pierce me. and all this pain fell on me like an avalanche. I cried for a week, no, howled, whined, moaned in pain.

But over time everything calmed down, I don't cry anymore

I lost my dad less than a year ago.

I was sitting at night, watching a movie, dreaming, and then a message - oops, from my sister from Odessa. Then, when I answered her “hello”, she called me:

Hello. How are you?

Hello. Fine. You..

Do you know that dad died?

My breath catches, I stand still and try to figure out what question to ask.

• Are you here? - comes from the tube.

I want to dump my sister and recruit my dad. My sister says she understands how much it hurts me, etc.

After the end of the conversation, I sobbed and asked for forgiveness for quarreling with him in our last conversation, for my ingratitude and rudeness.

I went to my mother and, having learned that she already knew and didn’t tell me anything, I got angry and ran out of her room.

That night I went to bed, but late, around four in the morning. Lying in a dark room was scary for the first time. And lonely. And empty.

"The earth is empty without you..."

We flew to Odessa, his hometown, for the funeral. I couldn’t believe that it was him in the coffin. For the first time, even though I’m not hysterical, I couldn’t stop crying. I wanted to rewind time, that was my greatest desire.

Take care of your parents

Yes.
For as long as I can remember, I have always been haunted by the fear of my mother's death. So much so that this topic was simply taboo. I wasn’t going to understand or accept anything, and I certainly wasn’t prepared. She understood this, and very rarely tried to talk to me, like, it’s inevitable, it will happen to everyone, you have to be prepared... But I closed myself off, straining myself to the point of impossibility.
And it happened.. April 20, 2016, from Tuesday to Wednesday.
Mom was 69 years old, I was 32 years old. I live in another city. I was going to come for the weekend, but for some reason I really didn’t want to.. Either the weather was not very good, or something.. Now I myself can’t understand HOW SO...
And she REALLY asked. Usually she’s the opposite - she says, sit there, everything is fine with dad, why spend money, what if you get sick on the road. And the drive is only three hours...
And I went. On Monday evening I went back. I remember how we said goodbye... There was something in it... But I wasn’t going to catch anything.
On Tuesday she called me to order a taxi for them - she took my dad to the hospital, he caught a cold. Dad has a bad character, he is capricious, and even before, a trip to the hospital with him was a total waste of physical strength and nerves for mom.
And here she is weak herself, and even he is pulled from the 1st to the 2nd floor and back... Everything was aggravated by the fact that he had cataracts and then he could see almost nothing.
Then I ordered them a taxi back. To the question “How are you?” She answered in a weak voice that it was VERY difficult and that I should not bother her until the evening... She would rest. In the evening I went to meet a friend. I called my mom. She said that when I get back, I’ll definitely call her at any time so that she doesn’t worry. We've always done it this way.
In general, I dialed her at 2:15.. Quickly, so as not to completely wake her up (she was sleeping), I said that everything was fine and I was home..
And that was our last conversation...
Now I'm happy that my phone records ALL conversations...Even though I'm afraid to listen to them.
I woke up around 11, got ready for work, went to work around two and started calling her in the minibus. It was raining heavily. She didn’t answer the phone. Calming myself down, I arrived, changed clothes and went to work, while at the same time continuing to call my dad. I got through. And then he said in a confused voice, “Mom doesn’t react to anything and lies in bed, so cold...”
...Yes, after that, even though I began, rushing around the hall, calling all the ambulances and my relatives to run to her, I already knew that EVERYTHING. That THIS HAPPENED. That she is not here now.
Well, what happened to me?
The most powerful and enormous fear of my entire life came true. An emptiness appeared, which is still there and will not disappear anywhere. But now the topic of death is not taboo for me. Just no one to talk to...
I myself called my sister, who lives very far from us - in the Murmansk region, and we are in the Odessa region. I told her myself. I had to do this and do it immediately. And what can we say about our feelings... An autopsy was not performed on her due to her age and illness (it was drug-resistant tuberculosis), thank God. In the evening she was taken to the morgue. In the morning we went to fill out paperwork at the hospital and brought clothes and things for bathing.
The doctor diagnosed the cause as coronary heart disease. She died in her sleep, as they say - they found her in the fetal position, with a calm face, closed eyes... It seemed like she was sleeping... They said it was a stroke in her sleep. ..One of the easiest and most painless methods of care..
The left half of the body was burgundy-red, especially around the heart. The nails on my hands turned black - I realized that for some reason blood had flowed there... Along my face, exactly in the middle, there was a clear border between red and normal skin color... I was eager to go to the morgue, and had no idea what my reaction would be. But seeing her in such an unusual form, HER-I was happy, if you can even use this word in such a situation. She was nearby. Just in a disconnected and contactless state, and her body no longer served her... But she WAS there. I somehow even felt calm...
The next evening we went to pick her up at the morgue so she could spend the night at home. The hearse didn’t want to wait for me, and we just flew by car so as not to miss each other - I HAD TO PICK HER. When we arrived, we found an open hearse with a coffin and men, sawing a young willow tree, which fell for absolutely no reason, blocking their exit. So they would have left long ago... I know that she was WAITING for me..
So we went with her - alone in the hearse... I didn’t allow her to close the lid and held it the whole way...
This was the brightest of all - this was our journey home..
And then home, carrying out the coffin, a trip to the border to pick up my sister, who traveled almost on foot in some places, their “meeting”...
Last night next to me, with my hand in hers... I even passed out for a few minutes...
Next is the funeral. Everything was organized by a local ritual, and thanks to them for being there - I was able to spend those last precious hours NEXT TO MOM... I didn’t leave her side the whole time of the procession and ride. I don’t remember how I felt. I only remember the moment when the priest took the earth with a shovel and sprinkled it in the coffin at four points with a cross. I was really startled; if I had been ready, I might have banned it. There was some kind of internal protest. Then I read - this Christian rite is more like a pagan one - “sealing” so that the soul does not wander the earth, but goes where it needs to go.
It took me a very long time to come to my senses, my relatives, friends, acquaintances helped me with this, everyone was sympathetic and unobtrusive. I am grateful to them. I started a notebook where I write to my mother.
I constantly “scan” space-time for connections with it. When I felt her, I felt calm, warm and comfortable, when no, hell opened its abysses in front of me... I caught her state. I felt how far she was, but not in kilometers, of course. This is different. Shortly before the year, I somehow calmed down, because I felt, quite realistically, that she was now... resting... She was like a baby in the womb - sleeping and waiting in the wings. Or some subsequent events... and while she sleeps and rests... In general, in these sensations of mine there is an extremely large amount of what is not defined in human language, and I have to select the most similar one, but it can very remotely describe what is happening..
I want to end with this.
I know that it has not disappeared. That it is still there. That we are connected very strongly, and this connection is not only in this world and period - it is everywhere and always. We won’t get away from each other, it’s just that everything will happen in a different “scenery”. I feel it. And I have no need to prove anything to anyone. But it’s a pity that there are very, very few people who can talk about this topic...
Thank you for asking..

Thank you for such a reverent, heartfelt answer... It is symbolic that there is practically no reaction from the people to it. Although there should already be a three-digit number of advantages... Well, people are not used to empathizing and delving into something truly important and human. This probably comes with age. And with the loss of loved ones.

Tomorrow it will be four years since my father has been with me. And I really, really understand you. Well, I even cried. I spent 3 months pulling him out of a severe heart attack, but I couldn’t. I lived with him for a month in intensive care. And he handed over 2 more at home. EVERYONE talked about the inevitable, but until the very end I believed that I would pull through...

Answer

This happened 3 years ago, when I was 18. He wanted it that way.
My parents divorced when I was 6, and despite the fact that I lived almost in the village, we saw each other once a year at best, and a couple of times a year I received hundred-ruble alimony. At 17, I left to study in another city and for some reason began to call him more often, but every time I had to introduce myself and remind him that he had a daughter and she needed more attention than a bottle.
The last time we spoke was in March. He asked me to give my son his last name, otherwise it would disappear.
On August 10, my mother woke me up and said that my grandfather (father’s father) would come in the evening, to my question “Why?” she just said that dad died.
She started screaming, hitting walls, becoming hysterical. I describe my further state as “a huge black hole in my chest” - all my emotions and all my strength went into it. I cut my hands, thinking that this way she would get out of me, but, naturally, only blood came out. I didn’t eat for a week, I just lay there and looked at the ceiling. I remember the funeral in great detail. The hardest thing was that I stood at the coffin alone, and dozens of people told me behind my back that it was my fault, although I still don’t know anything.
And then I dropped out of life for a year and a half. I studied and worked, but I don’t remember any of it. I tried to drown out the emptiness inside in every known way, but nothing worked. Nobody wanted or tried to help me. Then I accidentally met a man with a very similar character to him and the pain disappeared. Now it’s much easier, but the feeling of an abandoned child does not disappear anywhere.
I am his complete copy in appearance. At first I beat and threw away mirrors and tore up photographs. It's still hard to look in the mirror at times.
I didn’t forgive because I don’t know what to forgive for.

I repeat: take care of your parents, but also take care of yourself when you become parents, because you will be the most important people in your children’s lives.

My father died in my arms, I was then 20 years old, just a couple of weeks before my anniversary.

He had been ill for many years, with a pulmonary disability. A few months before, he quit his job. I spent a long time in the hospital twice. The second time - that was it, it was already a matter of time, he couldn’t walk anymore. A month of torment and insomnia.

I was sitting at home alone with him, my mother was trying to prove to the notary that she was legally obliged to come to the immobile patient to draw up a will. The notary answered that some kind of law was not a decree for her, and that if you needed it, take it to the office yourself (this dialogue was periodically transmitted to me on my cell phone). My father was terribly superstitious, and until recently he did not want to write a will - like they don’t live after that. But the day was just such that he himself understood: he had not even days, but hours to live...

When my father once again began to choke, I even tried to do something else. I injected him with a medicine that at least somehow helped in such cases. I called an ambulance. They didn’t have time, they simply witnessed the fact of death. I sat and was dumb.

The mother returned with nothing. I went into another room and stupidly cried into my pillow. Not for long. The next day I pretended that everything was as it should be - it was just a test at the institute. Actually, I didn’t say anything to anyone. The fact that I sucked was my own business.

But I really felt bad two years later, at work. On the anniversary of my father’s death, our newspaper summed up the results of a competition of children’s essays about the war, the winners were awarded, and at the solemn ceremony there were a hell of a lot of pitifully tearful songs about the war from local amateur performances. I sat alone at the projector in the hall of the cultural center and these very songs almost drove me into hysterics. Then it let go.

Unfortunately, now, eight years later, I don’t remember my father as often as I should. I'm used to it.

My father died under the wheels of a train in 2000, after New Year's holidays. My parents were already divorced at that time and I lived with my mother in a rented apartment.

When we got a call and my mother answered the phone, I immediately felt that this call was connected with my father.

After talking on the phone, my mother came up to me, sat next to me on the sofa and said:

“Pash, sometimes it happens that God takes people to himself so that they become angels. And so God took your dad to heaven.” I cried a lot, I felt incredibly sorry for my father. For some reason I wanted to receive sympathy from the whole world, because I believed that this tragedy was not only mine, but everyone’s.

I went from endless pity and regret that I don’t have a full-fledged family, that I didn’t have time to say goodbye, as well as endless self-torment with the question “What would have happened if he hadn’t died? What would my life be like now?”, to humility and accepting the fact that I will never see my father again and must try to move on with my life.

Shock. Scream. Apathy. At a funeral, laughter is inappropriate and the desire to cheer everyone up is inappropriate. At school there is aggression towards anyone who wants to feel sorry or at least stutter. I was 12 and death was, to put it mildly, unexpected. My father died from what is now commonplace cancer. True, a month after the diagnosis was made, we thought we would have time to do at least something. After this there is absolutely no use of resentment towards life. Deterioration of relations in the family (with my mother I didn’t want to see her tears, with my brother all the responsibility is now on him as a man and he is 17 as a result of which he is separated from each other, well, I don’t know their politics). And she very rarely cried. It's impossible because...

When I was 18, I was in my 2nd year of university, I was going to move in with a guy, and I didn’t know any problems in my life. Later, my father was given a terrible diagnosis - cancer. The guy, naturally, sensing the smell of problems, merged, saying that he suddenly stopped loving me. And then it began... hospitals, surgery, after which it seemed that everything was done! The disease was defeated. But no... in December the tumor appeared again and metastases began. I didn’t believe the doctors who said, get ready. There was faith that everything would be fine. 2 times intensive care, tears, I took him everywhere (luckily I made an agreement with the university and went to the evening class). Then they wrote to him in the direction - hospice. And for my father this meant the end. We hid the diagnosis. My father was always afraid of suffocating and it was hellishly cold in our apartment from the open window. And then he died 2 weeks after his birthday. The worst feeling that it was over was when I was organizing the funeral. Then I began to understand what happened. Later, a battle began with his brother for housing (it was all mine by inheritance, but who would want to give away housing). I will say this at the end - my life has changed very dramatically. A fair amount of time has already passed, but still that wound has not healed. Value time with your parents

My father died when I was 11. It happened on March 8, on that day my mother and grandmother were at the 40-day wake of our distant relative. My father returned home and went to take a bath, while I was sitting in front of the TV. He closed, turned on the water and the water flowed for three hours. When my mother came and asked me how long my father had been there, I was worried because he had been there for a really long time. They started knocking on the door, he didn’t answer, and eventually, when they broke it, they saw that he was unconscious. Mom called an ambulance, and I was very scared. The doctors who arrived an hour later confirmed death (the heart stopped), a lot of people came running, the police arrived, and began to fill out some papers.
At the funeral, I sobbed until my lungs were hoarse and I still can’t go near my father’s grave. At first I didn’t believe it at all, didn’t take it seriously, couldn’t understand it. Now, looking at it years later, 13 years later, I understand that it is very creepy to experience such sensations. Well, that is, not fully realizing the death of a loved one.
Take care of yourself and your family.

My parents have been divorced since I was 4. My mother led an antisocial lifestyle, used drugs, was in prison, and I lived with my dad and grandmother. Before I was 14, I saw her a couple of times early childhood, so I didn’t really think about her existence and I didn’t miss her specifically, but in general I missed having a mother. But at 14 she left prison, rehabilitated herself, got a job, found a husband and became pregnant with my sister. I went to her work every day, spent time with her, talked. I accepted her with all her shortcomings and loved her with all my heart. At 18, she left to study in another city and lived in a dormitory. And at that time my mother lost her temper, left her family, and went to live somewhere at the dacha in a cold, unheated house. She divorced her husband and started using drugs again. We couldn't do anything about it and stopped trying to help. And then late one evening in February my grandmother calls me on Skype and tells me that my mother has died. In a moment of shock, tears rolled up to my throat. She saw my face and asked me not to cry and passed out. For some time I sat stunned. I had just found my mother and lost her, so little time I had time to be with her and get to know her. Then I sobbed desperately, sitting on the floor, blaming myself for her death, for leaving, for not helping her, for allowing her to be left alone in this state in an icy house. Unable to bear the loneliness, I went into the next room and cried on my neighbor’s chest, and she calmed me down. Then they told me that there was no overdose, cardiac arrest and that’s all. And that she called my grandmother all week and said that her life was hell and she couldn’t stand it anymore. She was freed to some extent. There are no former drug addicts, people, remember this, don’t waste your life. My little three-year-old sister and I were left without a mother because of drugs.

This happened 2.5 years ago.

Let me start by saying that this man was so special to me beyond words. This was my beloved grandmother, who made a huge contribution to my upbringing; after my mother, she was (and is) a special person.

"I'm in the process of finding a job. I've been sitting at home for 3 days and studying material for a work exam.

2 am, on this day I have a copy.

My father calls (in an understandable state) and asks me where my grandmother’s photographs are, I don’t understand anything and ask “why,” he responds by saying that she died. And he says it as if I know it. I didn’t believe it at first and immediately called my mother. Mom was in tears and said it was true. This happened yesterday, but they agreed to tell me after I handed in the copy, but my father called me anyway.

I don’t remember well what happened next, there was such pain... hysteria... and all the words that fit this state. It felt like a thousand knives were stabbed into my chest, and then crushed with concrete slabs... and then lowered into an ice well and left there.

I ran out into the street and sobbed, all the neighbors probably thought that someone was being killed (but no one came out). Then I started walking, just wherever my eyes looked. I don’t remember what happened then at all. Everything was divided into how I went outside and then drove to work.

But my torment did not end there. I had to go to work. I really needed this job, so I gathered all my will into a fist and went there. If this had happened half a year/a year ago, I would not have gone anywhere. But my grandmother knew about this job and about the job and wanted me to get a job there. It was kind of my duty. It is her duty not to give up, because she would not want to.

There was no face on me, just solid “red meat”, I couldn’t speak and stop crying.

I really hoped that they would let me go, looking at my condition. But it was not there. No one cared about my grief. I have never seen such composure. Not only did I pass “something like an exam, fortunately they didn’t ask me much,” but they also left me to work, explaining that it would be easier for me.” Perhaps this was true, for several hours my tears flowed a little less But humanly speaking, it was low. But I no longer felt anything. My heart turned to stone. I was no longer afraid of anything.

At that moment I was completely alone, it was summer and all my close friends had left. So also the people I named best friends, did not support me. (they live in another city) They didn’t even send an SMS, but before that they communicated quite closely. We were friends for more than 11 years and were included in each other’s families. That is, they knew my grandmother very well. I took it very personally, tantamount to betrayal. In those days our friendship died for me. Of course there were people who supported me, they simply saved my soul ️

And the most important thing is that when she left, my grandmother knew how much I respect and love her. we called each other very often, even though the time difference was 7 hours. I am amazed at Her wisdom, the day before she died, she asked my mother not to allow me to fly to her funeral if she died. She said that she wanted me to remember Her alive. And so it happened. This pain cannot be relieved, more than 2 years have passed, and I still don’t believe it. It feels like we haven't talked for a long time...

And my advice: tell your dear ones and important people how much you love, respect, trust them. Thank you! Talk about their importance in your life. Nobody knows when this or that person will leave. It may be too late. Don't be afraid to be sensitive and vulnerable. After all, the person who left may have known about your attitude, but if there is an understatement on your part, then it will gnaw at you for the rest of your life. There are never too many words of love.

You just can’t imagine what a thrill it is to realize that I don’t have this understatement! What I always said is how much I adore Her. After that, a lot of things changed. With my friends, we began to value our relationships more, to thank for the truth. say we love you. Every day I tell my mother how much I love her. I wish the same for you. But! Only if it is sincere, never go against your heart. Not every person deserves love, even if it is a relative.

Mom had cancer, and the days were counting.

Mom held on until the last, and although the smile turned out to be forced, she tried to cheer us up, which made me even more desperate that nothing could be done.

This year, many celebrities died, Lyudmila Zykina and Michael Jackson left one after another, the world was experiencing loss, and my mother, looking at the TV, quietly said: “They weren’t even saved, let alone me.”

My sister and I were on duty in turns, we came from other cities, although not far away, but we each had work and family, and dad was always there, it was impossible to look at him, his mother’s illness exhausted him so much. Cancer is always scary.

It was time for me to leave. We said goodbye to my mother; she was so weak that she could barely sit up in bed. They hugged longer than usual and both cried. They asked each other for forgiveness. I felt that I would never see her again. The next day at lunch a call from my sister: that’s it. Although the news was expected, it was as if the world had collapsed. It’s like when you seem to know that something inevitable is going to happen, but you still believe in a miracle.

I immediately went to the station, bought a ticket and went to my parents. While she was driving, she called everyone in turn from the phone book, alphabetically, and said: my mother died. At first everyone fell into a stupor, especially those who were on the list through work or other contacts, but everyone found me some words of consolation and condolences. Just enough for the whole trip home. I don’t know what the driver was thinking (I was sitting alone in the front seat), but it helped me not break into hysterics. I didn’t have any tears at that moment, I was in shock.

How we buried Iama is a separate story. She bequeathed to bury her next to her grandfather, and this is in the city where her sister lives. We went to the funeral home in the small town where my parents lived to order a hearse. They are closed on Sunday. And on Monday we were told that the hearse must be ordered three days in advance! How clairvoyant you have to be to predict death!.. It’s useless to swear, and you won’t be able to endure the funeral - after all, your relatives must come. My sister left to prepare the ceremony in her city, and in half a day my dad and I collected the necessary certificates to be allowed to transport my mother. While they were running from the hospital to the prosecutor's office (where they needed to get a certificate that she died of illness and we were not involved in her death), dad stopped in the middle of the street and began to cry. I gathered my will into a fist and dragged him further. We didn’t even have time to cry like human beings... When the certificates were collected, we washed our old Moskvich, unfolded the passenger seat and removed the backrest, and went to the morgue. Dad stayed behind the wheel and I went inside. A worker in a white coat (it was a lunch break) pointed with the hand in which she was holding a sandwich to the row of gurneys behind her - “choose.” I understand that lunch and profession do not depend on each other, but the set table a meter from the dead shocked me greatly. I didn’t recognize my mother right away. She seemed to have become smaller, and the clothes they dressed her in were so ugly that I peered into my mother’s face and did not believe that it was her. "Well, did you find it?" Found it. Mom had a cute wrinkle on the bridge of her nose, and she recognized it from that. She cried, but quickly wiped away her tears - we had to travel a hundred kilometers, and we couldn’t get unstuck. The worker put a special mask with a freezing effect on my mother’s face, because it was July and it was hot, so they could get there. They put my mother in the coffin, closed the lid, and two orderlies carried her out. "Where is the hearse?" I pointed to our "Muscovite". The guys showed no surprise, they placed the coffin lengthwise on the unfolded passenger and rear seats, and we drove off. At the first traffic light, traffic cops stopped us - apparently, we were not driving quite normally - but when they saw our cargo, they waved their wand, like, pass.

I can’t imagine how we got there at all. The parents lived in perfect harmony for 52 years, the disease decimated my mother in six months, turning a blooming woman into a dried-up mummy, and my father was exhausted mentally and physically by all this, but continued to look after my mother and did everything himself, except for the last month, when my sister and I were on duty it took turns and dad couldn’t handle it alone, and it was completely unbearable for all of us.

Dad drove without really seeing the road, periodically dropped his head on the steering wheel and sobbed loudly. I was sitting behind him, and next to him stood a closed coffin... The car was thrown into oncoming traffic, then onto the side of the road. I jumped up, dying of horror, hit my dad on the shoulder and shouted: “Dad, do you want to kill us?! Please, drive normally!” So we drove on... Driving past the meadows we stopped, and I picked a huge bouquet of daisies - my mother asked them to put them on the grave, not roses or anything else. She loved daisies.

When we arrived at the house and saw a crowd of relatives, our strength left us. We didn’t tell anyone what we were going to take my mother in, so that they wouldn’t worry about us there, so as not to create additional stress for our relatives. When we turned into the courtyard of my grandmother’s house (our village house, where my sister now lived) and got out of the car, both of our legs gave way and we fell into the arms of our relatives who arrived in time... And we both burst into tears. And I finally gave vent to my tears - now that I had “delivered” dad, I could relax and grieve in a normal way....

I lost my stepfather at age 9. But this was not just a stepfather. This was a real dad. My biological father beat my mother when she was 7 months pregnant with me. From that moment on, they no longer lived in the place. When I was a year old or a little more, they divorced and I didn’t see him anymore, there was no alimony, no calls, he just didn’t need me, what can I say, I didn’t even need him at all. My mother and I lived with my grandparents; this moment occurred during the construction period; my future father was one of the hired builders. Actually, after this meeting, everything started to work out for them. In 2008, my brother was born, and on September 9, 2010, my dad died.

It’s like I remember this day yesterday. Then my school class and I went on an excursion to the local library, it was raining, the atmosphere was already quite sad for me. The bell rang and my mother told me to go home. This one call alarmed me, because nothing like this had happened before, her voice was as if she was crying, I didn’t know what to think. I call the intercom and my grandmother answers and opens the door. Entering the hall, I see relatives holding a portrait of my father, I was scared. And then I hear the fateful words: “Anechka, your dad died in the hospital.” Tears immediately appeared in my eyes and I cried all day and all night. Going into the bath in the evening, cool water poured from the shower onto me, washing away my tears. I asked God why this was all, why he took from me the one who was everything to me. He truly was a Pope with a capital P. But not because he bought me gifts and toys, but because he gave me so much care and warmth, he always played with me, even when he came home from work tired, for me he was always full of strength and energy, not paying attention to his fatigue. He died due to an illness - varicose veins in the esophagus. Back in August he was admitted to the hospital. He lost consciousness and vomited blood. These are the most terrible memories of that time. But even in this state, he did not lose hope and remained strong until the last. I remember his body in a coffin in our apartment in the hall before going to the cemetery. He was wearing a beautiful black tuxedo and white shirt, with cold blue lips and white porcelain skin. It was my dad.

I took all the preparations, the funeral, the wake, stoically. Basically, he supported dad, it was very difficult for him, but he still held on. I didn't say anything at the funeral.

After staying at home for some time, he returned to St. Petersburg, life was slowly returning to its previous course.

It was never easy for me to find a common language with my mother; the total difference in interests affected me. Over time, after her death, I began to think about what a great sacrifice she made, loving me selflessly and not demanding anything in return. And I regret that I didn’t give her as much as she gave me.

I didn’t say anything at the funeral because I don’t like it at all. “A thought expressed is a lie...” In the end, words really cannot convey the whole range and all the contradictory feelings that you experience for a deceased person. Trying to express this, it seems to me that a person simply turns the truth into the vulgarity of human words.

In general, now, three years later, I still notice how the longing for my mother is rooted inside me, diluted with numerous feelings about various other, foreign objects, and I just carry this longing within myself, and sometimes I sigh for the lost time, and I remember my mother with a smile and gratitude.

I was 7. 08/27/06 My father was traveling by car from Moscow, where he helped my brother settle in and settle into a hostel. The day before, my dad and I were happily chatting on the phone about how we would celebrate his birthday when he arrived. My mother and I cooked, wrapped the gift together, and thought about how we would congratulate. But the next morning, when I woke up, I ran to my parents’ room expecting to see my dad, but only my mom was there. And curtained mirrors. He crashed that same evening on a highway near the city. I didn’t understand then how this could be, because yesterday I talked to him on the phone, and now he’s gone. The funeral was on August 31st, there were a lot of people, my brother broke up and flew in by plane. The children who were taken to the funeral ran and laughed a lot, which, even then, gave rise to hatred and anger in me towards them. And the next day I went to first grade. I was observed by doctors for half a year and took sedatives. I was unlucky with the class and they laughed at me because of my tragedy. Now there is no pain like before. Time cures. But in fact, I miss this fatherly upbringing and sense of security, I miss it.

Despite divorcing my mother 16 years ago and new family- he always supported us (and did not deprive everyone of his attention), did not spare himself, we met relatively often. Lately there had been problems at work and he was very worried about them. On the morning of the above date, he was not feeling very well, but he still continued to do his dacha chores. By evening it became really bad, but the ambulance didn’t have time. I wasn’t there, he died in front of his 9-year-old daughter, his wife and his mother. According to them - in agony. I only found out about this at one o'clock in the morning.

To be honest, I thought it would be hard to take, a big blow to everyone who knew him. But they carried us on their last journey with dignity.

P.S. Since March 2016, it was possible to see him more often, because... began to help his half-sister with a foreign language. I regret that I could not come twice in the week before his death for various reasons, thinking that on May 4th I would definitely find time...

My dad was my god, but at the same time he was the one I feared and even hated at times. In the film "The Brothers Karamazov" actor Sergei Koltakov in the role of Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov is very similar to my father. Not by appearance or history, but by eccentricity and temper. When my parents divorced, he transferred his anger, his rage onto me, 9 years old. There were insults to me and my mother, and beatings, the worst of which was when he stuck a knife in my left hand. On my coming of age, in front of guests, he grabbed me by the hair, pulled my head back and rubbed dog feces on my face with the sole of his shoe. A few years later he almost killed me with a hammer. And I hated him and sometimes wanted him to die. But the point is that I continued to love him and saw with him the dad whom I idolized as a child, who was dearer to me than all the people on earth, even my mother and sisters. He never beat the younger ones, but I reminded him of my mother in appearance. Although he never laid a hand on her, he took out his bitterness on me

He died 1.5 years ago. Due to an asthma attack, he slipped in the bathroom, hit his head on the toilet and bled to death.

You know, he was always afraid that he would die and his body would be found in a month, eaten by a cat. It didn’t turn out that way... They sounded the alarm on the same day when he stopped answering calls, his 2 wives, 3 daughters, sister-in-law, son of a childhood friend and colleague arrived. And this was while they were waiting for the police. Terrible 2 hours... An elderly colleague and my sister lost consciousness even before the apartment was opened.

My sister watched as they carried him out, and then she lost consciousness again, but I ran away. I couldn’t come to the funeral. I've been suffering for these 1.5 years. I wished him death sometimes. And I have no peace, and I can’t forgive myself for this, but I can’t forgive him either

When I turned 14, my aunt died, before my fourteenth birthday, but for some reason I didn’t experience any sad emotions, maybe we didn’t see each other enough.
It all depends on how close you are to the person you lost, but also, of course, on other important life factors.

What to do if a child cries when saying goodbye to dad, and psychologist Yulia Guseva talks about goodbye rituals for children:

- Let's try to sort out the situation. You describe in detail the moment the child says goodbye to his dad, but you do not describe how the son interacts with his dad, for example, in the evening and what happens when the father is away from home. Does dad spend enough time with his son? How do father and son play? Perhaps there is something valuable for a boy in communicating with his dad that he does not receive when he is with you. Take a closer look at their games and activities, pay attention to how you spend time with your son. You could play with your son the same games (or similar ones) that dad plays. Or maybe, on the contrary, dad doesn’t spend enough time with his son, and then the boy communicates with his father in this way in the morning. In this case, dad should pay more attention to his son in the evening.

Another aspect of the question is the very fact of farewell. When saying goodbye, an adult sometimes experiences the emotion of sadness. A child, saying goodbye to a loved one, almost always experiences this emotion. Moreover, often the child experiences such vivid emotional states as grief or even despair. It is still difficult for a two-year-old child to fully understand that dad will return soon; for him, separation is an eternity.

you ask important question that it is not entirely correct to distract a child, because emotions, if they appear, are important to live through. How to experience emotions? The most important thing is to accept the child in his emotional experiences. It's not easy, but it's necessary. Here is one of the techniques that facilitates the morning separation of a child from a parent: when saying goodbye, you can tell your son, for example, like this: “You are very upset that dad is leaving. You know, I get upset too when dad isn't home. It is very sad. But there are things we must do. Dad has to go to work. He also wants to spend more time with us, play with you, go for walks. Dad will be back in the evening." This is an approximate monologue - you can talk to your son in a way that seems appropriate to you.

You also ask about cartoons. Of course, it is harmful for a child to watch cartoons for a long time. But watching cartoons for 10 minutes a day won't do any harm. If your child loves cartoons, you can make it a rule to watch cartoons every day after you see dad off. This will make it easier for the boy to switch from negative emotions associated with saying goodbye to dad to positive ones. Or you can come up with something else interesting activity which you will do together with your child after dad leaves. You can go out at the same time as dad, accompany him to the car or bus stop: you will also take a walk in the morning, which is quite useful. I'm sure there are other options. You just need to find your own farewell option, the one that suits your family.