Have you ever had someone try to erase you from your own story? To tell you that the love you lived wasn’t real enough? That’s what happened when my brother decided I wasn’t family enough to say goodbye to our mother.
The house feels so empty now. I walk through rooms that still smell like her lavender hand cream and expect to hear her voice calling from the kitchen. It’s been two weeks since we lost Mom to ovarian cancer, and the hollow feeling in my chest has only grown deeper with each passing day.
A bedroom | Source: Midjourney
“Emily, honey, are you eating?” My aunt Susan calls twice a day to check on me. “Your mother would want you to take care of yourself.”
I manage a weak “yes” even though the refrigerator is filled with untouched casseroles from well-meaning neighbors. Food tastes like nothing these days.
Mom was everything to me, and it’s not just because she chose me. Well, that part matters too.
I was five when she and Dad adopted me, a scared little girl with a too-big backpack and trust issues that ran bone-deep.
A little girl standing outside a house | Source: Midjourney
They already had Mark, their biological son, who was eight and blessed with Mom’s dimples and Dad’s confident smile.
“This is your sister,” Mom had told him, her hand warm on my shoulder.
“And this is your forever home,” she’d whispered to me later that night when I couldn’t sleep.
Those weren’t just words. She lived them. Every single day.
Dad was wonderful too. He was patient and kind and taught me to ride a bike.
A man helping his daughter ride a bike | Source: Pexels
But when he passed away from a heart attack eight years after I came home, it was Mom who became my entire world. She showed up to every dance recital with flowers, stayed up late helping with science projects, and held me through my first heartbreak at 16.
“Blood doesn’t make a family,” she would say whenever anyone made thoughtless comments about adoption. “Love does.”
A woman holding her mother’s hands | Source: Pexels
We were inseparable, especially after I graduated college.
I took a job at a design firm just 20 minutes from her house because I couldn’t imagine being far away. Weekend brunches, impromptu movie nights, holiday traditions… we did it all together.
Then the diagnosis came. Ovarian cancer, stage three.
“We’ll fight this,” I promised her in the sterile hospital room where the doctor had delivered the news, his eyes already carrying a resignation that terrified me.
A doctor | Source: Pexels
For two years, that’s exactly what we did.
Two years of chemo, of doctors who never made eye contact, of late-night ER visits and pain that stole her voice, piece by piece.
And through all of that? I was there. Every. Single. Day.
I moved into her house. Cooked every bland meal that wouldn’t make her sick. Helped her bathe when her body failed her. Sat beside her in the hospice while her hands trembled in mine.
A woman holding her mother’s hand | Source: Pexels
And Mark? He only visited twice.
Once for her birthday, bringing an expensive bouquet that made Mom smile despite the pain medication making her drowsy.
Once for five minutes after she was moved to the hospice. Just long enough to say, “I can’t handle seeing her like this” and leave.
He lived three hours away in Chicago. Had a successful career in finance. A beautiful wife. Two kids Mom barely knew.
But that’s not why he didn’t show up. It’s because he didn’t want to.
A close-up shot of a man’s face | Source: Midjourney
And still, I never held that against him. Mom didn’t either.
“Everyone grieves differently,” she would say on nights when disappointment made her eyes shine with unshed tears after he canceled yet another visit. “Mark just needs time.”
But time was the one thing she didn’t have.
The morning of the funeral dawned cold and clear. It was the kind of beautiful autumn day Mom would have loved.
A coffin | Source: Pexels
I stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom, smoothing down the navy blue dress she’d helped me pick out months before.
“This one,” she’d said. “You look so beautiful in this one, honey.”
The memory made my throat tighten. I tucked the folded pages of my speech into my purse, the paper worn soft from how many times I’d revised it.
It wasn’t just a eulogy. It was a goodbye. A thank-you. A love letter to the woman who chose me, who taught me what family really means.
A handwritten note | Source: Midjourney
“Emily? The cars are here.” My aunt Susan knocked gently on the bedroom door. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”
No. I would never be ready. But I nodded anyway.
The church was already filling when we arrived. Mom had been loved by so many people, including her book club friends, neighbors, former colleagues from the elementary school where she’d taught second grade for 30 years.
I greeted them in a fog, accepting hugs and condolences that blurred together.
I spotted Mark near the front, standing with his wife Jennifer and their children.
A man standing in a church | Source: Midjourney
He looked like he’d aged years in the weeks since Mom died. We hadn’t spoken much during the arrangements. He’d delegated most decisions to me with brief, perfunctory texts.
“Emily.” He nodded when I approached. “The, uh, the flowers look nice.”
“Mom loved lilies,” I said softly. “Remember how she always planted them along the front walk?”
White lilies in a garden | Source: Pexels
He looked away, uncomfortable with the shared memory. “Yeah.”
Pastor Wilson was preparing to begin the service when Mark suddenly pulled me aside near the church steps, away from the gathering mourners.
“Hey,” he said, voice tight, “You should sit this one out.”
I blinked, not understanding what he meant. “What?”
He glanced around like he didn’t want anyone to hear, and then said the words I wasn’t ready for.
“No one wants to hear from the adopted one. The speech should come from real family.”
A man looking at his sister | Source: Midjourney
Adopted.
I felt the blood drain from my face. The church, the people, everything around me seemed to fade away as his words echoed in my head.
He’d never said that word before. Not even when we were kids fighting over toys or the front seat of the car. Mom and Dad had never allowed any distinction between us.
We were both their children. Period.
I opened my mouth to respond, to remind him of all the nights I’d spent holding Mom’s hand while he was absent. All the doctors’ appointments I’d driven her to. All the medications I’d carefully organized in daily pill cases.
Pills in a pill organizer | Source: Pexels
But then I saw his clenched jaw. The way he’d already decided. The grief that was making him cruel.
So, I nodded.
“Fine,” I whispered. “Whatever you want, Mark.”
***
He gave his eulogy. It was fine. Generic. A few stories from childhood and some lines about “how much Mom meant to all of us.
People clapped politely when he finished.
A man giving a speech | Source: Midjourney
I sat in the front pew, tears streaming silently down my face. The speech I’d written burned a hole in my purse. All those words I’d carefully chosen to honor her were now silenced.
As Mark stepped down from the podium, one of the hospice volunteers, Grace, walked over and handed him an envelope.
“Your mother wanted you to have this,” she said, loud enough for the front rows to hear.
Mark looked confused but took the envelope.
A sealed envelope | Source: Pexels
He opened it at the podium, unfolding a sheet of pale blue paper that Mom always saved for important letters.
I watched his hands tremble as he read the contents. He cleared his throat once. Then twice.
Then, he began to read aloud.
“To my children, Mark and Emily. Yes, both of you. Blood makes children related. Love makes you mine.”
A sob caught in my throat.
“Mark, you were my first. My wild child. The one who never stopped running. Emily, you were my answered prayer. The soul who chose to come to me in a different way, but just as deeply.”
A woman putting a note in an envelope | Source: Pexels
The church was completely silent now.
“Emily, I hope you kept the words I helped you write. Because they’re my last ones, too.”
Mark looked up from the letter, his face transformed by shame and grief. His eyes found mine across the sanctuary.
“Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Come up here. I’m sorry.”
I stood on shaky legs, aware of every eye in the church following me as I walked to the front.
A woman walking in a church | Source: Midjourney
My hands trembled as I unfolded my speech.
Mom had helped me draft it during those quiet hours between pain medication doses, when her mind was clear and we talked about everything and nothing.
I took a deep breath and began to read the words we wrote together.
I told them about her courage. Her kindness. The way she could make anyone feel like the most important person in the room. How she taught second graders to read for three decades and still got Christmas cards from students now in their 40s.
And how she made the best apple pie in three counties, but would never share her secret ingredient.
An older woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
And I told them what she taught me about family.
That it’s built by choice, by love, and by showing up day after day.
When I finished, the church was filled with both tears and smiles. That was exactly what Mom would have wanted.
Afterward, people lined up to hug me. To tell me how beautiful it was. How Mom would’ve been proud. Her book club friends sharing stories I hadn’t heard before. Her fellow teachers reminiscing about staff room pranks and school trips.
Mark pulled me aside before I left the reception.
A man talking to his sister | Source: Midjourney
“I was wrong,” he said, looking directly at me for perhaps the first time in years. “About everything.”
I nodded. “I know.”
We stood there, in silence. Not the kind that erases you. The kind that makes space for healing.
“You know what, Mark… She loved you so much,” I finally said. “She never stopped hoping you’d come around.”
His eyes filled with tears. “I… I should’ve been there for her. I wasted so much time.”
A man looking down | Source: Midjourney
“Then don’t waste any more,” I told him, thinking of Mom’s most frequent advice. It’s never too late to start over.
And I realized something as we walked back into the reception together. I didn’t need the podium to prove I was her daughter. She’d already said it herself. Louder than anyone else ever could.
The Volume Buttons On Your Iphone Has Many Hidden Functions
Any device’s full potential may often be unlocked by having a keen eye for the hidden gems beneath the surface; the iPhone’s hidden functions are no different.
Your iPhone has many hidden treasures that are just waiting to be discovered, from iMessage features to brighten every conversation to generation-specific features that maximize the technology in any particular iPhone.
A set of volume buttons is a characteristic that is common to all iPhone models. Unlike many Android phones, which only have one volume button, the iPhone has featured two different volume buttons since its original release.
The two buttons on the left side of the iPhone are used for functions other than volume control.
Like so many other locations, the phone’s buttons can be utilized for non-volume operations in addition to a few useful chores that can be accessed with their assistance.
Whether you’re a photography enthusiast seeking tactile finesse, a safety-conscious person needing quick access to emergency services, or someone who longs to have a physical snooze button again, the iPhone’s volume buttons offer a range of interactions that go far beyond their seemingly straightforward purpose.
When you make an SOS call, your phone notifies your approved emergency contacts of your location and the circumstances using the information you provide in the Medical ID section of the Health app.
With regard to Medical ID, users can store their emergency contacts, allergies, critical medical information, and other details in this function.
In an emergency, anyone can access this information. Even if your phone is locked, the Medical ID is still accessible for first responders’ use.
Switching off the power and more
Beyond emergency services, another important feature of the iPhone could be accessed by briefly depressing the side and volume down keys.
The menu that offers access to Medical ID and the emergency call slider is where you’ll find the power-off slider. Turning off the iPhone is done by using the designated slider.
Users may also use this screen to disable the Find My function on their phone when it is in sleep mode. Just below the power-off slider, there’s a popup to turn off Find My.
Find My Device will no longer work if the device’s setting is disabled through the power off menu; you will need to restart it and enter the passcode again to locate it.
This control layer significantly improves device security by granting users control over their location data even when their phone is off.
However, this feature is more intricate than it seems. Using the volume buttons to access the power-off menu has a security risk. The power off slider displays, briefly deactivating the Face ID and Touch ID functions.
This ensures the gadget can’t be turned off and prevents someone else from being able to forcibly access it when locked.
controls for the camera
Contemporary smartphones are renowned for their capacity to swiftly and effortlessly capture moments, with the iPhone outperforming rival flagship devices in terms of camera capability.
One of the more widely known features of smartphone camera apps is the ability to use volume controls.
While some Android devices allow users to zoom in, the primary purpose of the volume keys on the iPhone is to capture images.
Instead of fumbling with the on-screen shutter button, users may snap instant images by simply pushing the volume up or down button.
This small function mimics the feel of a traditional camera, offering a cozy, tactile experience that some users might find more acceptable.
Moreover, this feature is not limited to shooting photos. To start recording a video, you can also utilize the camera app’s volume buttons.
Because it provides users with control and stability during the process, allowing them to grasp onto the device steadily and capture dynamic footage, this function is very handy for recording video material.
A video recorder’s volume buttons are helpful for purposes other than merely starting a recording. If the iPhone’s camera app is still set up to capture images, you can use either volume button to begin a quick shot movie.
Users merely need to release the button to stop recording. You may also press and hold the volume up button to switch it to “Photo Burst” in the Settings app.
The Notes app’s document scanning feature and the Camera app both utilize the volume buttons for taking photos.
When scanning a document into the iPhone, users do not have to wait for the device to properly frame the document. As an alternative, you can snap a picture of anything that’s visible in the scanner’s viewfinder by pressing either volume button.
With enough time and work, such scans can be edited to appear as precise as what the iPhone can accomplish automatically.
Alarm mechanisms
It can be a surprising habit to turn off the alarm in the morning. Apple has given its users the chance to go back in time to a simpler time when they are trying to snooze their alarm in the morning.
You can immediately stop the alarm when it goes off by using the volume up or down button. This will spare you the trouble of looking for the on-screen button and give you some alone time while you get ready for the day. This method of using the volume controls also applies to vibrating, quiet alarms.
Using the volume buttons to snooze occasionally proves to be more convenient than reaching for the snooze or smaller dismiss button first thing in the morning.
Similar to the snooze button, the volume buttons are likewise simpler to reach in the early morning mist.
Slapping the enormous snooze button on an equally gigantic alarm clock radio combo doesn’t exactly feel the same.
Remember that you must first ensure that snoozing is enabled before using the volume buttons to snooze an alarm.
If the snooze setting is not enabled for an alarm, the volume buttons will simply refuse it. The alarm is programmed to sound again at the next specified time.
Turning off phone calls and locating my
Picture this: a quiet moment or a crucial meeting cut short by a ringing phone. It doesn’t happen very infrequently. It’s simple to periodically forget to switch off your phone or even to switch it back on by accident.
The volume buttons on your iPhone soon create a barrier between you and anyone close and the ringtone you’ve selected when you receive one of these unpleasant robocalls. In far harsher situations, you can use the power button to reject or end a call.
The ringing phone can be muffled with a single press of either volume button. Using the volume button to end an unwanted call makes sense.
Controlling Find My notifications on the iPhone also heavily relies on the volume buttons.
The iPhone uses new buttons to secure your relationships and belongings in a world where those things are vital.
The position of your second Apple device can be found by pressing either volume button quickly to quickly muffle the otherwise loud warning when something close sends out a Find My notification.
As a result, receiving notifications is more manageable.
App features
Despite Apple’s best efforts to stop it, iPhone volume buttons can be utilized as tools for other app interactions.
the inventive usage of volume buttons in non-Apple apps—a feature that is usually free from Apple’s stringent constraints despite its usability.
By using this repurposing, a number of software developers have provided users with instantaneous shortcuts or actions, providing a haptic and seamless alternative to traditional on-screen taps.
One particularly straightforward approach is to utilize a counter app that allows users to tick up or down dependent on whether they use the volume up or down button.
However, employing volume buttons in non-Apple apps is a technique that should be utilized cautiously due to Apple’s app development constraints.
Maintaining a consistent user interface and preventing hardware control abuse—which can possibly mislead users or obstruct normal interactions—are given top attention in these standards.
Apple usually forbids developers from altering the functionality of hardware buttons in their apps as a result.
While some programs are able to effectively integrate volume button functionality while adhering to Apple’s standards, these instances are still quite uncommon due to the challenges these constraints pose.
Not only can developers not modify the behavior of the volume buttons, but users are also not allowed to use the volume buttons to run commands that were developed within the Shortcuts app.
But not everyone has been deterred by that. The volume buttons on your phone can theoretically be used to create shortcuts, but doing so involves using a complicated workaround function that connects an action to the volume.
Restart with force
At some time, everyone has either attempted or heard the sage advise to simply turn their device on and off again. Using the volume buttons to force an iPhone reset is a quick and simple solution in many cases.
When the device becomes unresponsive, sluggish, or has software problems, this can function as a reset to help restore it to a better state.
Users can force a restart by simultaneously pushing and holding the side button, the volume up and down buttons, and the volume down button.
The volume buttons here can be used to reach the shut-down menu, but the iPhone can also be turned off without the need for a slider by holding down the side button.
After turning off their phone, users still need to push and hold the side button down until they see the Apple logo on the screen.
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