Instagram story viewer> @danieltroppy> Posts

1.3K

followers

1005

following

Writer • Documentary storyteller • Photographer •
“Good Mourning” — one-minute true stories of love, caregiving, loss & grace.
DanielTroppy.com

POSTS STORIES REELS

“Neighbors & Food”
January 1, 2026 – Thursday

On New Year’s Day, my parents’ neighbor Daniella stopped by with homemade tamales straight from her mother’s kitchen. Earlier, a close family friend, Concha, dropped by with a bag of Mexican sweet breads. So many people have stopped by the house to bring food, but mainly to visit with Mom.

It’s really incredible to see my parents’ small, supportive community stop by to offer help and bring food. This reminds me of when I was a young twenty-something in the early 1980s, when my Grandma Troppy passed away. Neighbors from near and far came with casseroles, fried chicken, tamales, and desserts in honor of her passing.

Traditions with deep roots, such as sharing and caring, are to be cherished and passed on to the next generation. It’s how society shows tenderness.

#literaryagent #writer #documentary #caregiver #narrative by @danieltroppy

THIS SHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AND BEFORE MOM PASSED AWAY.

“Selflessness”
January 1, 2026 – Thursday

Ofelia walked over at 7:30 so we could change Mom, bathe her, and put her in a fresh nightgown. When we noticed her urine was darker than usual, we just looked at each other, knowing what was happening.

We also realized that after fourteen days without a bowel movement, she finally had one.

Ofelia put on her rubber gloves and gently wiped her clean. I almost cried watching her step in and care for Mom. She didn’t hesitate—she simply took control of the situation.

For someone to clean up a helpless soul after a bowel movement is humanity in action, selflessness at its core.

It’s moving to watch someone care for another human being. It’s just so real, and that reality carries a lot of weight.

#literaryagent #documentary #writer #nonfiction #caregiver by @danieltroppy

$THIS SHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AND BEFORE MOM PASSED AWAY. “Trips We Never Took” January 1, 2026 – Thursday Mitch and I had rented a car, hoping to drive Mom all around the Rio Grande Valley. That plan ended when she fell on December 14th and fractured her femur. We had imagined taking her to South Padre Island, Port Mansfield, Brownsville, McAllen, and everywhere in between. But she can’t put any pressure on her feet. If she did, the fractured bone could protrude, and I can’t even imagine the pain that would cause. After returning the car, we came home and took a much-needed nap. Dad and I are both mentally and physically exhausted—an exhaustion I have never felt before. I try to imagine how Dad must feel. This is his wife of sixty-six years. Watching her helpless and bedridden can’t be easy. It’s heartbreaking for me. It has to be even harder for Dad. #literaryagent #nonfiction #narrative #storytelling #caregiver by @danieltroppy$

$THIS AHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AND BEFORE MOM PASSED AWAY. “14 Hour Nap” January 1, 2026 – Thursday At 4 a.m., Mom woke from a deep sleep and wanted to get out of bed. She wanted her makeup on. She just wanted to get up. I woke when I heard Dad say, “Honey, you can’t get out of bed—you fractured your femur.” When she saw me, she pleaded, “Daniel, help me get out of bed.” I gave her a syringe of Lorazepam and stood beside her, holding her hand, waiting for it to take effect and calm her down. At 5 a.m., I returned to bed, but that didn’t last long. Mom wanted to watch TV, and because Dad is hard of hearing, the volume was at full blast. It woke both Mitch and me. I walked back into the living room and explained that it was 5 a.m. and everyone was sleeping. She could watch TV at 8 a.m., I told her, but not at 5. After sleeping for fourteen hours, Mom had awakened with a new surge of energy. Apparently, the rest of us weren’t ready to join her. #literaryagent #documentary #caregiver #storytelling #narrative by @danieltroppy$

THIS SHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AND BEFORE MOM PASSED AWAY.

“Deep Sleep”
December 31, 2025 – Wednesday

Dad got almost no sleep the night before because Mom’s restlessness was in full gear. Then, around 2 p.m., everything changed. Mom fell into a deep, unshakeable sleep that lasted the rest of the day.

Marina, a neighbor, and her daughter stopped by to check on Mom. They tried everything they could think of to wake her, but nothing worked. She was completely unresponsive.

By 8:40 p.m., she still hadn’t opened her eyes, spoken, or lifted a finger. Dad and I sat beside her, holding her hands.

“You don’t need to say a word, Mom,” I told her. “We know you love us, and you know we love you. There’s no need to say a word.”

Then she winked at me, barely opening one eye.

I knew she heard every word.

“It’s okay to let go. Please don’t worry about leaving. We will all be together again someday, Mom. Just let go and be a beautiful angel.”

Then she winked again.

#literaryagent #writer #caregiver #documentary #nonfiction by @danieltroppy

THIS SHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AND BEFORE MOM PASSED AWAY.

“So Determined”
December 31, 2025 – Wednesday

I woke well before 5 a.m., hearing Dad repeatedly tell Mom to go back to sleep. She wanted to get out of bed, walk outside, and wash her face. She was restless—very restless.

I could hear she was hell-bent on getting up, so I walked into the living room.

Nothing I said seemed to calm her or ease her anxiety, so I gave her a syringe of Lorazepam.

Dad had gotten about thirty minutes of sleep the night before and was visibly exhausted. I had never seen him look so physically drained, stressed, and shaken. Watching him struggle was heartbreaking.

Mom was wound up that morning, determined to get out of bed and carry on as if nothing had changed.

But within minutes of the Lorazepam, tranquility settled over the room. Her body relaxed, her restlessness eased, and she drifted back to sleep.

For the moment, the house was quiet again, and Dad could finally breathe.

#writer #documentary #photography #literaryagent #caregiver by @danieltroppy

THIS SHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AND BEFORE MOM PASSED AWAY.

“2 Weeks”
December 30, 2025 – Tuesday

I’ve been here for two weeks at this point, thinking Mom was dying. One day she’s leaving; the next she’s ready to go to the rodeo. It’s impossible to know just how long this can continue.

Mom said to me, “I’m going to miss you,” which broke my heart. I told her, “Mom, you will always be in my heart—always.”

She also told me how sad and depressed she felt. When I asked why she felt this way, she had no answer. She simply said that it’s how she felt. I know she’s in pain, physically and mentally—who wouldn’t feel that way? Mom knows she is leaving behind a husband and a son, and I can feel her struggle.

Soon afterward, friends stopped by to see her. Henry and his two sisters came with two dozen tamales. Eloy and Daniella from next door stopped in, and Nemo and Ofelia came over from across the street. Having visitors—who just happened to bring tamales—lifted Mom out of her blues.

#writer #literaryagent #documentary #caregiver #storytelling by @danieltroppy

THIS SHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AND BEFORE MOM PASSED AWAY.

“Hanging On”
December 29, 2025 – Monday

Mom seems to be hanging on and slowly improving, despite not having eaten in nine days. The nurses often say it’s remarkable. But she feels the love inside her own home. She feels loved, needed, wanted, and appreciated. So why not hang on a little longer?

I needed to get out of the house, so Mitch and I drove to Brownsville. The last time I’d been there with Mom was more than 25 years ago. We drove from one end of the city to the other before parking downtown and exploring the historic streets on foot.

Leaving Mom, even for a few hours, isn’t easy. My mind stays with her the entire time. I wonder if she’ll still be alive when I return or if she might pass while I’m gone.

No matter how tightly I think I’ve strapped myself in for this ride, the truth is, I’m never prepared for what comes next.

#writer #caregiver #literaryagent #nonfiction #publisher by @danieltroppy

THIS SHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AND BEFORE MOM PASSED AWAY.

“Another Bounce”
December 28, 2025 – Sunday

Mitch and I returned to my parents’ house after spending a few hours at the Alamo Flea Market.

Dad told us Janie, the nurse, had stopped by that afternoon to check on Mom. Her oxygen level was high, her blood pressure was good, and she had a rattle in her chest. For the most part, though, her vital signs were good.

Dad and I are beginning to think she isn’t leaving after all. In fact, Dad said, “She’s way too stubborn to die.”

He also told us Mom had been restless all afternoon, repeatedly trying to get out of bed—to use the bathroom, put on her makeup, or simply get up and walk around.

One day, she seems to be slipping away. The next, she bounces back into action.

Living through these unpredictable turns is an emotional rollercoaster. Just when I think I know what’s coming, Mom surprises us again.

I’m learning to strap myself in and hold on tight.

#writer #literaryagent #nonfiction #caregiver #publisher by @danieltroppy

THIS SHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AND BEFORE MOM PASSED AWAY.

“Flea Market”
December 28, 2025 – Sunday

I had to sleep in my old bedroom last night. I couldn’t spend another night on the floor because my whole body hurt.

In the morning, Leo and Concha stopped by to see Mom. Today, she looked better, even though it had been eight days since she’d eaten. I have no idea where she finds the strength to keep living, but somehow, it’s coming from somewhere.

After Ofelia and I bathed, changed, and turned Mom onto her side, Mitch and I drove to the Alamo Flea Market. It felt wonderful—and much needed—to get out of the house, even if only for a few hours.

The flea market was amazing. Live music, people dancing, eating, and shopping. It was fabulous.

We wandered around and came home with an Aquascutum trench coat for $15, a bag of oranges, and a box of mangos.

For a little while, I could breathe again. The fresh air, the music, and the simple pleasure of being somewhere else were exactly what the doctor ordered.

#literaryagent #writer #nonfiction #documentary #caregiver by @danieltroppy

THIS SHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AND BEFORE MOM PASSED AWAY.

“The Last Time She Will Sing Happy Birthday”
December 27, 2025 – Saturday

Around 7:30 a.m., Mom sang “Happy Birthday” to me. It was more like she whispered “Happy Birthday.” She barely had the strength to lift her head, much less sing to me, but she did. Dad and Mitch chimed in.

By 8 a.m., Ofelia, Janie, and I changed, bathed, and turned Mom onto her side. We have to turn her every two to four hours to prevent bedsores from forming.

All day, it never really felt like my birthday. It just felt like another normal day—if such a thing exists.

Still, I felt incredibly lucky to spend my 62nd birthday with both of my parents and my partner of 24 years, Mitch.

It was the best gift I could have been given: time with my parents and my partner.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this might be the last time Mom would ever sing “Happy Birthday” to me.

#literaryagent #writer #documentary #nonfiction #caregiver by @danieltroppy

THIS SHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AND BEFORE MOM PASSED AWAY.

“It’s Your Birthday Too”
December 27, 2025 – Saturday

I slept next to Mom last night. She wasn’t as active as she had been the night before, so I bundled several comforters and blankets together and lay down beside her hospital bed.

I woke up at 7 a.m., jumped up, and said, “It’s my birthday, Mom, so that means it’s your birthday too!” She smiled.

I said, “Mom, without you, I wouldn’t be here, so it’s a day for you to celebrate too.”

Darrell always believed that. He would mail Mom a birthday card on his birthday, reminding her that it was her birthday too. It’s something so simple and sweet—and yes, he really did that.

Now, lying beside Mom on my birthday, I couldn’t help but think about how much love can live inside something so simple. She gave me life, and Darrell never let her forget it.

#literaryagent #documentary #nonfiction #writer #publisher by @danieltroppy

Daniel Troppy

@danieltroppy