{"id":10331,"date":"2026-04-09T10:49:02","date_gmt":"2026-04-09T10:49:02","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/?p=10331"},"modified":"2026-04-09T10:49:09","modified_gmt":"2026-04-09T10:49:09","slug":"my-grandson-honored-his-late-mom-with-100-bunnies-my-dil-called-them-trash-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/?p=10331","title":{"rendered":"My Grandson Honored His Late Mom with 100 Bunnies\u2026 My DIL Called Them \u201cTrash\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"

My Grandson Honored His Late Mom with 100 Bunnies\u2026 My DIL Called Them \u201cTrash\u201d<\/h1>\n
<\/div>\n
\n
\n

I’ve seen grief take many shapes, but I never expected it to come unraveled in my own home. What my grandson created to heal nearly broke him all over again.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
Advertisement<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

My name is Ruth, and I’ve lived long enough to know that grief doesn’t leave a house when a person does. It settles in, finds a corner, and waits. My grandson Liam is nine, and I live with him and his father.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Two years ago, we lost his mother, Emily, to cancer. She was my son Daniel’s first wife, the kind of woman who filled a room without trying. When she was gone, something in Liam went quiet.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Not all at once. Not in a way people notice right away.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

But I did.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

We lost his mother.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Liam lost his light and didn’t laugh the same way. He stopped running to the door when someone knocked and didn’t ask for things as kids do.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

My grandson just\u2026 adjusted.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

The only thing he held onto was his late mother’s sweaters. Emily used to knit them herself. They were soft and still smelled faintly of the lavender detergent she loved.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Liam kept them folded in a box in his room. He’d sit with them sometimes. Not playing or crying.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Just\u2026 sitting.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

Liam kept them folded in a box in his room.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

About a year after Emily passed, Daniel remarried a woman named Claire.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I tried to give her a fair chance. I really did. But from the beginning, she made one thing clear: those sweaters didn’t belong in what she liked to call “her” home.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Daniel kept brushing it off:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“She’s adjusting.”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“She’s not used to kids.”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“Give her time.”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

So I stayed quiet for Liam. I didn’t want to make things harder for him than they already were.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

I tried to give her a fair chance.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

\n<\/div>\n

\n

Then, a few weeks before Easter, Liam came into the kitchen one afternoon holding something in both hands as if it might fall apart. It was a small, crooked, uneven bunny, one ear longer than the other.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“I made this for kids in the hospital. From mom’s sweaters,” Liam explained. “So they don’t feel lonely.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

My throat tightened.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I looked at that little thing in his hands, and for a second, I couldn’t speak.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“Why a bunny?” I asked when I found my voice.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“I made this for kids.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Liam gave me the smallest smile I’d seen in a long time. “Mom used to call me her ‘bunny’.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

That did it.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I swallowed hard and said, “That is such a beautiful gesture, Liam. I’m sure those kids will love them!”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

That was all he needed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

After that, Liam worked every day.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

After school. Before dinner. Sometimes, even before bed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“Mom used to call me her ‘bunny’.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

My grandson sat at the kitchen table with his mother’s old sweaters, unraveling them carefully and turning them into yarn again. Then he started knitting for hours, just like he used to with his mother.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Not perfectly, but steadily.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

He made tiny bunnies with crooked ears and mismatched eyes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

One bunny turned into five.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Five into 20.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

And before I knew it, there were boxes lined up along the wall!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

Then he started knitting for hours.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Each bunny had its own little tag with a message tied around its neck:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“You are not alone.”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“You are brave.”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“Keep fighting.”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I asked him once how many he planned to make.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“One hundred,” he said, as if it were nothing.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

And somehow\u2026 he did it!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“One hundred.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

For the first time in two years, I saw something come back into him.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Liam wasn’t the same boy he used to be. But he now had pride.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

The afternoon everything fell apart started like any other. Liam and I were in the living room, carefully packing the last of the bunnies into boxes. We’d planned to take them to the children’s cancer ward the next morning.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

My grandson was excited.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

He kept checking the boxes, straightening them, and counting under his breath.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

The afternoon everything fell apart started like any other.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Then Claire walked in. She stopped when she saw the boxes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“What is all this?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n

My daughter-in-law’s tone wasn’t curious. It was sharp.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“Liam made them for the kids at the hospital,” I said.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire walked over, picked one up, and turned it in her hand.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Then she let out a short laugh. “This? This is trash.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

My stomach dropped.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“This? This is trash.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Before I could say a word or stop her, she grabbed the nearest box and walked straight out the front door.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“Claire,” I started.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Too late. She went and dumped the entire box into the dumpster outside!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Then she came back inside for the next one. And the next.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Liam didn’t move.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

He just stood there, his hands hanging at his sides, his whole body trembling.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

She went and dumped the entire box into the dumpster outside!<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

No sound at first.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Then his face crumpled, and he started crying, but it was quiet.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

That made it worse.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I reached for my grandson and held him in my arms, not sure what else I could do as we stood inside.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

But then, just as Claire returned indoors, Daniel surprisingly came home early that day. When he walked through the door, Liam ran to him, sobbing, trying to explain what had happened.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

Daniel surprisingly came home early that day.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

My son listened but didn’t interrupt or react. He just stood there, holding his son while Liam cried.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I watched him closely, waiting for him to reprimand her, because I’d seen this before.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Daniel always chose peace by defending her. But then he broke from his silence and stillness, looking up.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“Wait here. Just one sec.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n

And he walked deeper into the house.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

We stayed where we were. Liam clung to my hand.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

Daniel always chose peace by defending her.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Claire stood near the doorway, arms crossed, as if she were daring someone to challenge her.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

A minute passed. Then Daniel came back.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

He was holding something small, carefully in his hand: a wooden box. It was worn at the edges, with a dark stain, the kind you keep tucked away where no one else can find it.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire barely looked at it at first. Then she did.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

And everything about her changed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

It was worn at the edges.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Claire’s face lost color. She froze, and her voice dropped to a whisper.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

She took a step back.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“No… wait… No… You weren’t supposed to have that.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Then she suddenly stepped forward, reaching for the box. Daniel lifted it just out of her reach.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“What is that?” Liam asked, his voice small and still shaking.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“It’s something that your mother-in-law cares about immensely. Just like you care about your bunnies.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“What is that?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Claire’s eyes darted between them. “How did you find that?”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“You didn’t do a good job keeping it hidden in the back of your closet,” Daniel said.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I moved closer before I could stop myself. Something about the way she was reacting… I needed to see.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Seeing my movement, Daniel opened the box.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Inside were letters, dozens of them. Photos too. Claire looked younger in them. She was smiling in a way I had never seen in this house. Always with the same man.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“How did you find that?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

“Who is that with you in the photos?” I asked.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire didn’t answer.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

But Daniel did. “That’s the love of her life, Jake. The man she can’t let go of.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire let out a sharp breath.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Liam looked between all of us, confused, still hurting.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“Liam,” Daniel said, softer now, “do you mind going to your room while I handle this?”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“Who is that with you in the photos?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Liam hesitated, then nodded. He walked past me slowly, shoulders slumped, and disappeared down the hallway.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I wanted to follow\u00a0my grandson<\/a>. Every instinct in me said to go. But I stayed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Because for once, I needed to see what my son would do.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

The front door was still open. Daniel held the box steady.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“You called Liam’s memories trash. Should I treat yours the same way?”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire rushed forward again.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

Every instinct in me said to go. But I stayed.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

My son stepped back. For the first time since he’d married Claire, he didn’t soften his tone or try to explain her behavior away.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“I found these months ago,” Daniel said. “I was fixing the shelf in your closet. It slid out.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire said nothing.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“I didn’t bring it up because I figured people hold on to things for a reason, even if they don’t make sense to anyone else.” He nodded toward the driveway, toward the dumpster. “Go get every single bunny back. Everyone. And then wash them all and recreate any of the notes attached that were damaged.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire didn’t move.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“I found these months ago.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

For a second, I thought she might refuse.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Then Daniel shifted his grip on the box. He turned slightly toward the dumpster.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

That’s when Claire broke. “No, wait!” She ran outside.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I stood in the doorway beside Daniel.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Neither of us spoke.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire climbed into that dumpster without hesitation.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

No gloves. No pride left.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“No, wait!”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

She pulled out the boxes first, then the bunnies, one by one.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Some were wet, crushed, and barely held their shape.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire kept going until every last one was back in the boxes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Inside, Claire laid everything out across the kitchen, carefully this time.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

She didn’t say anything or look at any of us.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

She just started working.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

Some were wet, crushed, and barely held their shape.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

She began rinsing, scrubbing, drying, and reshaping. Setting them out in rows.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Hours passed, and while no one told her to keep going, she did.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Later that night, when the house had gone quiet, Daniel placed the wooden box back into her hands. Carefully, the way she should’ve treated Liam’s things.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“I’m not throwing this away,” he said. “But this,” he added, his voice firm now, “this was the last time I stayed quiet.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire looked down at it, her fingers tightening around the edges. Then she looked up at Daniel.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“I’m not throwing this away.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

“I should’ve said something a long time ago,” my son continued. “I didn’t. That’s on me.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I stayed in the doorway, listening.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

My son spoke louder, “You don’t get to come into this house and decide what parts of our lives matter. You don’t get to erase Emily. And you don’t get to hurt my son like that again.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire’s eyes filled, but she didn’t interrupt.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Daniel took a breath. “You either figure out how to be part of this family, or you go back to Jake.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

The name landed heavily in the room.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire flinched. Daniel didn’t say anything else.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“You don’t get to hurt my son like that again.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n

The next day felt slow.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

The bunnies were spread across the dining table, still drying. They didn’t look perfect, but they were all still there.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Claire stayed quiet all day. She avoided me, and even when Liam came home from school, she kept her distance.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

No apology.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

But I watched her. She kept looking at the table, at the bunnies.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

As if she were trying to understand something she’d missed before.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

She kept her distance.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n

That evening, Claire surprised us by calling us all into the living room.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Liam sat beside me. Daniel stood near the doorway. Claire stood in front of us.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

She looked at Liam first. “I’m sorry.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“Okay,” Liam whispered.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Then she looked at Daniel and me. “I shouldn’t have done that. There’s no excuse for it.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Daniel crossed his arms. “You think?”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“I’m sorry.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

“I think… I mistakenly thought that if I pushed hard enough, Liam would let go of his mom, and maybe… make space for me.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“Mistakenly,” I repeated.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“I didn’t understand what those sweaters meant. Or what he turned them into.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“And now?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Clarie glanced toward the dining room. “Now I do. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and… knowing you still chose me, even after finding that box…” She looked at Daniel. “…made me realize who’s actually standing beside me.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

Clarie glanced toward the dining room.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Then she turned and walked outside.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

We all sat there, unsure of what she was doing.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

A minute later, we heard the dumpster’s lid. Then footsteps. Claire returned, holding the empty wooden box from the day before. She’d emptied it.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Then Claire walked straight to Liam and held out the box. “Can we start again?”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Liam looked at the box, then at her. For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then he took it. And hugged her.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Just like that.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

“Can we start again?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n

A few weeks later, the bunnies were ready. Cleaned. Dried. Notes fixed. Some were still a little uneven, but that didn’t matter. Liam asked Claire if she’d go with him to deliver them. Teary-eyed, she agreed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Later, I heard from Liam that Claire stayed close to him the whole time.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

She didn’t try to take over. Just… stayed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Liam said he got to hand them out after explaining to the nurses why he was there. He said the kids in the cancer wards he visited when his mother went in for treatment held onto the bunnies as if they meant something.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Because they did.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

Teary-eyed, she agreed.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

On the drive home, Liam revealed he’d leaned his head against the window.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Then he said, “Mom would’ve liked that.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

He saw Claire’s hands tighten on the steering wheel.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

But she didn’t say anything; she just nodded.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

And for the first time since she walked into our lives…<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I believed she might finally understand how to stay.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My Grandson Honored His Late Mom with 100 Bunnies\u2026 My DIL Called Them \u201cTrash\u201d I’ve seen grief take many shapes, but I never expected it to come unraveled in my … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":10327,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10331","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-real-life-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10331","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=10331"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10331\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10335,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10331\/revisions\/10335"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/10327"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=10331"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=10331"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=10331"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}