I love my mother. She is my favorite person in the whole world. She has been the only person in my life who has stayed with me my whole life. She is my mother, but she is also my best friend, my sister, my moral support, my compass. We’ve traveled together, danced together, laughed together, cried together. She is my zip lining buddy, my movie going companion, someone I can talk to without any judgement or backlash. She supported me when I wanted to quit school to be a writer. She even told me to start this blog. She taught me everything I know. I am who I am because of her. She is my absolutely everything.
And now, my everything is gone.
My mother passed away on February 26th. She couldn’t breathe, so I put her in the car and I booked it to the nearest hospital, thirty minutes away. I swear she died in the car. Thankfully, the doctors were able to get her heart beating long enough for me to sit with her while she passed.
One minute I’m looking up to Heaven and saying, “Hi Mom, say hi to Jesus for me.” And the next, I’m turning around and weeping. As I walk out into the hall I’m laughing through my tears. “She’s healed,” I tell everyone. “She doesn’t have to suffer anymore. She doesn’t have to carry around any of her demons.” I sit with the chaplain and I begin to weep again. “Why?” I ask. “I’m more confused than anything.”
She wasn’t supposed to die. She was getting better. The medicine worked the other days when she couldn’t breathe. Why didn’t it work that day?
I’m so conflicted. On the one hand, I’m at peace because of the incredibly firm foundation of faith my mother instilled in me. On the other, I’m confused and angry and sad. This might sound strong, but I don’t feel human. These “human” emotions often feel foreign to me, like I’m just going through them to get them out, not because I actually feel them.
My whole life, it’s been me and my mom. Now, I’m 29 years old living in an empty house without the person who was always there. Always. I now have a house, and a car, and six cats, and adult responsibilities, and choices to make, and a future without my mom.
What am I going to do now? I can do anything I want, and that scares me. I can actually go out and do things, and that kind of makes me feel guilty, in a way. I don’t want Mom to feel like she’s the reason I never did that in the first place. I just loved her so much that I never wanted to. I always wanted to come home to her.
Do I actually want to go out and meet people? No, I don’t, to be honest. She always wanted me to have friends, but I never wanted any because I had her. She is all I ever wanted. She completed me.
I’m not saying I’m incomplete now that she’s gone. I’m not empty, and I’m not lost. I’m just…confused.
I know Jesus is my everything (or should be). But Mom, she was the everything Jesus could give me here on Earth. And for that, I thank Him. He has always taken care of her, and now, well, He still is. And I know He’ll take care of me too.
There is one thing that I’ve been telling everyone, and myself. What I know, I’m supposed to know, and what I don’t know, I’m not supposed to know. If I find out later, then I’m supposed to know. If I never find out, I’m not supposed to know. And I have to be ok with that.