On this day at 9:32 pm, my grandmother got a call from the hospital. The doctor on the other line told my grandmother that my mother crashed and that they lost her. I was 10 and I’ve never heard that lady bawl and cry so hard in my life. My mother worked all the time. And I mean ALL the time, but she always made time for me. I’d see her on a weekends; friday to sunday and then I’d come home with my grandmother and go to school through the week just to see her again when the weekend came around. I’d spend more time with her on holidays (sometime they alternated) and even more time on the summer. 10 years of this, only three that I can remember vividly and the last year I rather forget. I remember where I was when it happened. I was at a party in the apartment below us with my younger cousin who was 2 at the time and my elder cousin who was thirteen. I wasn’t having a good time. Earlier that day I downright refused to go see her in the hospital with my aunt and uncle. At this point in time she was in the ICU and she wasn’t breathing on her own, wasn’t eating on her own and was hooked up to dialysis machine. I hated seeing her that way. I couldn’t see her that way anymore. I had no idea that I wouldn’t be able to see her ever again.
Its been 13 years since it happened and I still remember everything. She died on a Saturday. The viewing was a Thursday and it was beautiful. My mother had so many friends. The funeral home was huge and it was packed to the point that people were standing in the aisles and going out the door. You would think a celebrity died. Her funeral was the next day, the friday and I can still remember watching them close that box, load her up into the car, drive all the way to the cemetery and put her into the ground. Two days later, I reluctantly celebrated my 11th birthday.
Its not a good day. It really isn’t. There are those who grieve for a session. Those who grieve for a season and those who grieve for a lifetime. I still remember her smile, her voice, everything she did for me and tried to do for me. Getting through this day only to try and celebrate my birthday really….puts me in a bad place. To know that you’ll never get that call again; to hear that one person tell you happy birthday or merry christmas and things like that. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a type of hurt like that. It doesn’t just hurt.
It PHYSICALLY hurts.
I can’t sleep, I can’t bring myself to eat and everyone around me becomes uncomfortable. They don’t know how to speak to me and I, with my own internal sorrow and anger lash out and beat those who don’t deserve it with the anguish I keep bottled up inside. I will not sit and say that I haven’t contemplated suicide; I have. The pain and the jealousy of seeing others with their mothers became overwhelming for me at one point, and I contemplated throwing myself in front of the moving train that I was taking to school. I’ve thought of many ways to do it, and yet never went through with a single one.
Why?
Because although I don’t believe fully that there is a God, I would like to think that there is something out there. I want to believe that. I need to believe that. Because if there isn’t, and I took my own life and she was not waiting for me on the other side…it would be like losing her all over again.
I can’t afford that. I can’t let that happen. I can’t lose her all over again.
So while I sit, and think of those who I make uncomfortable like this, those who I lash out at in such a childish manner, I can’t help but be filled with memories. The good ones, of course, but they only lead up to the one that I can never forget. I want to forget it. I want to forget it so bad I can’t see straight.
I miss her. I miss her so much. I’ve never been this alone before. I can’t stand it.
I miss my mommy. I want my mommy. What I wouldn’t give to hear her. See her smile. Hear her laugh. What I wouldn’t give…… I hate this day.
