My Memory In My Life

The first week of her absence was lonely but endurable. My father tried to come home early to take care of us. Even my brother, who usually just ignores me, was willing to stick around. But as time goes by, I started to miss my mother more and more. It was to the extreme that when she called back

I sat down to write this eulogy the weekend before my mother died. I was in a chair next to her bed, keeping her company as she dozed. Initially, I thought this would be the hardest thing I would ever write. But the truth is, as I watched her sleep, I took comfort in knowing she was lost in a dream-world instead of plagued by her dark reality—and the words poured out of me like I too was lost in a world of dreams. Dreams that brought me back to the imaginary games we played when I was just a kid, secrets confided between a mother & dauggter, lessons learned, I love you”s exchanged, her beaming pride, our friendship, arguments that exhausted both of us, and the reconciliations that always brought us back together.

I went to my living room to ask my mom a question, to see she wasn’t there. I asked my brother “where’s mom?” and he replied with “shes at the hospital, grandpa got burnt.” I would never have expected “grandpa got burnt” to be as severe as it was. I remember my mom coming home around two in the morning. I got up and out of bed to ask some questions. She said “I don’t wanna talk about it right now. Pack some stuff up, we’re going to Waterloo tomorrow.” So I listened and packed up a bag.

My first memory was sitting in my dads old, gray pickup staring at the stars as he drove the highways back home. Tired from a day of stressful travel, when in previous hours I was on a leash led by my mom in the airport. My dad has always created a sanctuary everywhere he went, which was a vital skill growing up with a homeless father. My parents began their long unpleasant divorce when I was two, whereas my dad was gifted a restraining order entering the house. I didn’t see him for months until he was granted permission to pick me up from preschool with a bottle of chocolate milk in his warm hands. Their divorce created a hole in everyone’s lives that each of us tried to fill separately. Mom was never home, working three jobs, going to school full time, and filling that hole with cigarettes, beer, and boyfriends. My sister filled it with endless sleepovers and friends, while I had three friends that I never saw outside of school.

Internet blogger Helen Ramos once wrote, “A good son will never allow sorrow to befall [his] mother...and act as if he is an only child [who] cares...protects when no one dares...serves with his life in return. . .” While I could not prevent sorrow from befalling my mother, nor could I protect her; however, I have committed my life to serving her memory by becoming the son she would want me to be (Ramos). As a result of losing my mom, I have learned the importance of taking care of my health, the fragility of relationships, and financial stability.

Struggling to open my eyes, I see a groggy image of my mom going around my room, turning off the lights, and putting my favorite blanket on. She sits on the edge of my bed and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Go to sleep." she whispers, then gently steps out of my room, closing the door behind her. My mom does nothing but care for others. As a mom of four, she's got a lot on her plate. Yet that doesn't stop her from making me feel like the only person on Earth the matters. She's a nurse and makes all of her patients feel the same way. One of my favorite people to be around is my mother which is why she is my Michigan hero.

During the fall of 2016, just as the new school year had started, my mother left for Vietnam. She flew out to Da Lat, Vietnam in mid-October for a business trip and told me she’d be back in two weeks; it had taken her five months to come home on March 13, 2016. Growing up, she had always been there for me, whether it was a choir concert or my First Communion, and experiencing her leaving for just a few months had felt like she was genuinely leaving, abandoning us. But, somehow my grandma, my brother, and I made do during this bleak time to manage ourselves, the house, and the horrific bills that came every single month. It wasn’t easy to do all that and find a way to get ourselves to school; we often had to rely on several relatives on

A year ago today I lost the woman I called mom to cancer. Most days I still have trouble believing she's really gone. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think about calling her and telling her about my day and realizing that I can't. There are days when all I can think about are how I won't get to have her at my wedding or how she'll never meet my kids. Days I feel lost and I mourn the memories we never made or the things I never got to tell her, days where I wonder if she would be proud of the woman I have become. I often dwell on all that could've been but never will be and today is definitely one of those days. But I do cherish the moments and memories we did get together. My mom was one of the best people I knew. She always put

My mother’s characteristics that never let me be alone were so crucial to my recovery because thanks to her I got over the death of my beloved dog. This experience helped me understand that my mother would never leave me alone while I am dealing with something very hard. She helped understand that I was never alone, and that she loved me very much.

My mum passed away one year prior a month ago. By one means or another I have made it 395 days without hearing her voice; her voice was as beautiful as a crystal clear lake. I watched her beaming in the open darkness; her bright crescent moon smile as brilliant as the star-studded sky above us. Freckled. Eyes as blue as a cloudless sky on a summer day.

  I always enjoyed hearing stories about my mother when she wasn’t around. She abandoned me so many times, leaving me with Nanna. “You were so used to her coming and going. I remember one day you were in the swimming pool, and your mom got out of the car. She had been gone for a couple of weeks. You smiled and waved at her and kept swimming. Once she came back out of the house with some clothes in her hand, she told you bye. You didn’t cry that time because this was normal.”

I refuse to give up the luxury of creeping into my mother’s soft, caramel colored arms and telling her things that I would like to cleanse out of my mind as she stokes my head, back, or arm in a relaxing motion. I cannot think of any way I would have made it through fourth grade as students in my school who were a constant nuisance teased me, without having the option of being in my mother’s arms and feeling secure, elated, free, and loved. I have lived in multiple places, my house in Kenya, where I felt like a little princess in a little kingdom, my grandmother’s house where I was constantly spoiled and felt loved, or even my previous residence, where I felt complete. All these places hold great personal value, yet at the same time, they remind me that the places only existed through my mother, and essentially she is all I have in my life. I will admit, material objects do sometimes cloud my judgement or even hide my true feelings toward the one place that will be important above all others, yet I will never forget my mother’s arms which have molded me into the person I currently am. Just think about it, isn’t it better to cry in your mother’s arms as oppose to a stranger’s shoulder as a young

My first loss was my great grandmother Lena. This lady never allowed me to go lacking with anything. She could not cook during this time of my life due to a stroke. However, if I said that I was hungry grandmother would have my grandfather to prepare a full meal for me even though it was late night. Did I say the meal was cooked after 12 midnight? As time passed my mother, who was her granddaughter, began saying that grandma was not doing well and that she had been diagnosed with cancer. I couldn’t quite figure out the extent or depth of the disease but one new that it was not good. Watching tears flow from my mom over the illness and suffering. Finally, one day mom called and tells my father that grandmother is requesting to see me at the hospital and for him to bring me. As I prepared to go, mom calls back and state that there is no need to come. But somewhere down on the inside of me; I still wanted to go and see my

Memory makes us. It is, to an extent, a collection of unique and personal experiences that we, as individuals, have amassed over our lifetime. It is what connects us to our past and what shapes our present and the future. If we are unable remember the what, when, where, and who of our everyday lives, our level of functioning would be greatly impacted. Memory is defined as or recognized as the “sum or total of what we remember.” Memory provides us the ability to learn and adjust to or from prior experiences. In addition, memory or our ability to remember plays an integral role in the building and sustaining of relationships. Additionally, memory is also a process; it is how we internalize and store our external environment and experiences. It entails the capacity to remember past experiences, and the process of recalling previous experiences, information, impressions, habits and skills to awareness. It is the storage of materials learned and/or retained from our experiences. This fact is demonstrated by the modification, adjustment and/or adaptation of structure or behavior. Furthermore, we as individuals, envision thoughts and ideas of the present through short-term memory, or in our working memory, we warehouse past experiences and learned values in long-term memory, also referred to as episodic or semantic memory. Most importantly, memory is malleable and it is intimately linked to our sense of identity and where we believe we belong in the world.

Every morning I still wake up thinking that she is there drinking her tea in her room , watching tv. Then suddenly the truth comes rushing up to me and I realize that it is just a dream hanging around me still, and a cold despair fall upon me. I feel empty inside. My mother’s death was a really sobering experience I’ve passed through. It was the most devastating loss in my life.