After a terrible family tragedy, she learns that it's less about the place, specifically, and more about the idea to never take anything for granted. The Madison has your answer-though it's not so straightforward. Starring Michelle Pfeiffer and Kurt Russell, the latest series from Sheridan surprisingly begins by treating the state much like any Lifetime Christmas movie would.
While events such as "Mother's Day Crafts," "Daddy and Daughter Dances," and "Grandparents' Breakfasts" are often planned with good intentions, they can unintentionally leave some children feeling invisible and serve as another painful reminder that their lives have changed forever.
Nineteen-year-old Mabel Tanaka has always used nature as a means of calming her volatile emotions, decompressing in the silence of the placid pond near her house with her beloved grandmother by her side. But as Mabel grows from a sullen teen to a young adult, her coping mechanisms fall away one by one. Her parents move away, her grandmother dies, and the pond, the last stable place in her life, is deserted by the wildlife that once gave her so much comfort, and scheduled to be paved over for a new highway.
Humans have disappeared and their Pokémon have been left behind, trying to make the remains of the old civilization into one that they can live in and sustain by themselves. Throughout this process, these Pokémon talk about how much they miss their human partners, and the information we can glean from the notes and letters we find lying around is that a climate crisis forced them to evacuate the planet and leave the Pokémon in a massive PC server for their safety.
Dr. Bessel van der Kolk writes in 'The Body Keeps the Score' that trauma doesn't just live in our minds - it reshapes how our bodies respond to emotion. Sometimes, when we experience significant loss, our nervous system essentially decides that feeling is too dangerous and shuts down the whole operation.
When Dympna Little lost her beloved mother Lily Little to ovarian cancer in December 2024, it was her online community - she posts comedy videos as @dimplestilskin on Instagram and TikTok - who provided unexpected support and understanding of the experience of grief.
What Maggie O'Farrell so brilliantly did, not just with Agnes and Shakespeare's wife, but also with Hamnet, their son, was to bring these people ... and give them status beside this great man. ... [And] give the full landscape of what it is to be a woman.
He was crying over a bowl of oatmeal he had to make himself. That moment changed how I see strength. How I see men. How I see myself. The weight of ordinary things. We think the big stuff is what breaks us. Death, divorce, losing a job. And yeah, those things hurt like hell. But sometimes it's the small stuff that cuts deepest.
Inspired by her brother's tragic suicide, the album transforms pain into a powerful musical narrative, breaking the silence surrounding suicide and offering a refuge for remembrance and healing.
Living with family as an adult is often framed as a "failure to launch," but navigating grief at home with my mom and younger sister helped me rethink growth. Living at home in my 20s wasn't easy at first, but after my dad died, living together became a lifeline that transformed my understanding of what adulthood truly means.
The Finnish conductor and violinist is talking about Ralph Vaughan Williams' The Lark Ascending, a work of such innate Britishness that it regularly tops UK classical music popularity polls. Kuusisto's Lark isn't RVW-lite, however, but a penetrating, convincingly honest account that strips the music back to its essential roots in the English folk tradition.
My husband and I had two children and lost them both. Vincent, 16, enjoyed baking, while 19-year-old James was a brilliant linguist and a deep thinker. Shortly before Vincent's death, Li had written a memoir about her depressive episodes which led to her own suicide attempts.
You didn't just lose a husband-you also folded yourself into his family's grief and stood beside them through their darkest moments. Those ties don't simply disappear because life moves forward. Knowing that firsthand, I want to acknowledge the very human dilemma you are facing. You're balancing loyalty to someone who has been family for a long time with the commitment you are now making to a new partner. These are not simple emotional shifts. They require courage, clarity, empathy, and a whole lot of heart.
We're pretty happy; we laugh at the same things, and there's a lot of camaraderie, but sometimes, I don't feel listened to. We have a 'loud house' in that my husband is a talker and likes to bring up whatever's on his mind the moment it pops into his head. I could be pooping, and I'll hear, 'Honey! Are you there? I want to tell you something!' It's a lot.
June 1, 2021 I just finished leading a wellness retreat in Sedona. Six months earlier, I had lost my mother. Two weeks before, I had ended an eight-year relationship. Finally, I was beginning to feel like a phoenix rising from the ashes. I felt as though I was on top of the world and standing in Love. My intuition whispered, "Not quite yet." I quickly squelched that feeling. I recall thinking, "How much worse can things get?"
In many regards, Vince Gilligan's is a one-woman show. Cheekily referred to as "the most miserable person on Earth" in the vague description that Apple TV initially provided, Carol Sturka (Rhea Seehorn) is the grumpy hero at the show's center, a cynical fantasy-romance writer who suddenly finds herself one of 13 fully conscious and in-control humans left on Earth - the other seven-odd billion having been subsumed into a peaceful hive mind.
The gathering has the vibe of a pilgrimage, the preparations unfolding with quasi-religious grandeur. Several enormous speakers, arranged on a dance floor of sand, have the coldly inanimate majesty of the monoliths in "2001: A Space Odyssey" (1968), as if they were sonic portals, transmitting pulses from an alien dimension. The music that pours forth, composed by the electronic artist Kangding Ray, is magnificently transporting, and the ravers surrender to the beat with glorious delirium.
Portland playwright Sue Mach's new work, directed by Gemma Whelan at 21ten Theatre, uses the bear - and other characters from Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale - to fill in the 16-year gap in The Bard's story and to address some universal issues, such as the pain of losing a child, that will always resonate in the real world. In Shakespeare's play, Leontes, King of Sicilia, falsely accuses his wife, Hermione, of infidelity, even though she's a faithful partner who's nine months pregnant with his child.
Synchronicities can be dismissed as quirky experiences, an anecdote to trot out at a dinner party, but they can also be profoundly transformative and healing. It's for this reason that synchronicity-informed psychotherapy informs my clinical practice. As a refresher, synchronicities are events in the external world that coincide in a meaningful way with the internal world of thoughts, feelings, images, sensations, memories, and dreams, but not due to causal reasons.
Maggie O'Farrell's lauded 2020 novel Hamnet is a dense and lyrical imagining of the lives of William Shakespeare's family, full of interior thought and lush descriptions of the physical world. It would seem, upon reading, near impossible to adapt into a film. Or, at least, a film worthy of O'Farrell's so finely woven sensory spell. Film-maker Chloe Zhao has attempted to do so anyway, and the result is a stately, occasionally lugubrious drama whose closing minutes are among the most poignant in recent memory.
Writer/director James Sweeney's "Twinless" took the 2025 Sundance Film Festival by storm. This mordant delight - about two young men who befriend one another in a support group for people who've lost a twin - whipped the Eccles theater into a frenzy with its cuttingly dark laughs and unexpected plot twists. Sweeney's second feature, in which he stars opposite Dylan O'Brien who plays twins Rocky and Roman, also made headlines when sex scenes involving the two actors were leaked online by social media users
Beneath a china cabinet in Meshea Ingram's Georgia home rests a single yellow alphabet block, a simple but symbolic reminder of her late son, Briggs. "He was my sunshine," Ingram recalls, the vivid memories of his bright blonde hair and affectionate hugs lingering in her heart. The block remains untouched, a poignant testament to her love and loss, encapsulating the sentiment that "some things stay right where they are, not because we forgot to move them, but because our hearts never will."
