Personal Narrative: A Mother's Death

I spent most of the morning stuck in my thoughts, why was I not grieving my parent's death? Why had I never noticed I was supernatural? Dominating most of my thoughts, did I have feelings for Jordan, my brother's best friend?

I wait at the door. I put on my solemn, grim face, I cannot let these children see me as a soft women. I am anything but that, well I guess I am, but we all need to hide our inner emotions some how. My useless husband, Hans, mumbles, “I see the car”. We step outside, most people think Hans and I are crazy for opening our home to these two children, but every little bit of money that we can earn helps. Plus, they can help with the laundry, I think and smile.

The most impactful event I experienced, was the loss of my father. I lost my father as a result of homicide, but he had made choices that kept him from being in my life. As a child, I saw my father every month and I enjoyed it: I had two sisters, I could hang out with and play with our dolls. My father could be a loving and great person when he chose to be.

Cozy coffee shops, warm summers, friendly hugs…1.2.3. Disastrous events occur all the time. We are always aware that someone, somewhere in the world, is hurtling forwards into tragedy. Tragic endings leave behind unanswered questions, unfulfilled dreams, unspoken thoughts. Those who love you are left behind, in the dust of your presence, spent to forever remember only your memory, not your existence. Crisp slices of toast, piping hot cups of tea, fresh strawberries…1.2.3. We all tend to forget an end exists. We spend our lives compiling as many happy memories as we can, fully enjoying the good days, deeply mourning the sad ones. When tragedy strikes, only then are we reminded that the end is there, and we scurry and try once again to make the most out of

“Of course my mother wouldn't have let me leave here without speaking of the others who shaped her life, I mean those whom she dedicated her life to. My mother had a dream where all people in need were helped, she made that dream reality. She spent her life helping others anyway she could. She helped get laws passed and was a shining star in the sky of politicians.” At this moment the clouds moved and the sinking sun shone over the water. The crowd shifted in the seats as tears rolled down the faces of many, the front row lost in a trace of remembering the dead woman.

Today my mom was murdered. Our doorman, Stuart, found her in our apartment. It was strange to hear someone was murdered in New York but when it's your mom it is even harder. My sister, Maria, doesn't even know, and I don't want to be the one to tell her. I had to drop out of college to take care of Maria and not having someone else to help will be a challenge but I am willing to face it.

I don’t know how to continue now that she is dead. What could I have done to stopped her ? Nothing I guess. How does one keep moving after something like this. She called that night me and told me she loved me. I said I loved her and told her to go to bed because it was late. What would have happened if I stayed on the phone? Things might be different. We could be eating popcorn and watching horror movies right now. But now my life is a horror movie. Everywhere I go reminds me of her. I can't function in school. They thought that a week would be enough time. Going back to a place where I have so many memories with her has just made it worse. I met her here. Right here.

Have you ever had that one person that you wished would just disappear? I have, and that one person, well, she was my sister. I was two years older than her, and I began to take care of her when our parents died. They died three years ago, when I was eighteen, and they left my sister, Jess, to my care.

Occasionally someone will come along and try to speak with me- no, her. They all come and stand before me, some lay flowers, and stay only for a few minutes each day, while some stay for hours and come only once a month, but they all stand. Not one of them dares to sit as if fearing if they did they would be disturbing the very grounds she lay in. Some clearly loved her. Some clearly did not. A few here and there came with stories from their shared past together, telling stories of the drinking games they once played and how there go to karaoke song was Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. A few came to speak words of regret, words of sorrow for her passing. In the beginning I tried counting. I tried to count the amount of tears people shed over her passing. Eventually the number grew too high and I could no longer keep track. At first, I was puzzled, even years and years after she had joined me in this hell, they were still crying? What possible reason could they still be crying after all these years, and then it hit me. They weren’t crying over her passing, death doesn’t happen to the one who dies, but those who surround them. They were crying over her, everything about her. They were crying over the memories of her that were held within me. They were crying over how she overreacted to things, over her tendency to laugh at even the smallest of things, how she spoke her mind without an ounce of fear in her voice how she eminently believed in helping people and had a genuinely good heart. They cried for the woman who held a vast amount of strength, in not only her work, but her character as well. In that moment of clarity I determined something. She not like the others. The others I simply held, but with her, she holds

My father passed away in 1991, two weeks before Christmas. I was 25 at the time but until then I had not grown up. I was still an ignorant youth that only cared about finding the next party. My role model was now gone, forcing me to reevaluate the direction my life was heading. I needed to reexamine some of the lessons he taught me through the years.

After my mother and I have an argument she usually smiles at me and says, it’s because we’re so much alike that we argue. She reminds me that our lack of communicating often stirs more trouble than why we were arguing. I used to get upset that my mom didn’t set time aside for our family to spend time together or make us eat together at the dinner table. I was upset because I was comparing our family to my friends’ families. I valued those things and assumed my mom didn’t, but I was wrong. My mom had so much on her mind everyday it was breaking her on the inside. Not only had I wanted my mom to be like my friend’s moms, now I had wanted my mom to be different because she was depressed. Bonhoeffer mentions that we desire images of others that we want, but aren’t the true image they bear as Christ’s (pg37-38). At first I was puzzled. How is a good image of mine, not Christ’s image for her? I learned that His image is neither right nor wrong, but simply uniquely divine. My mom could have done those things, but her whole life would have had to be different, and I would never want to change who my mom is.

I told her. I repeated it so many times, but she was just staring at me, motionless...speechless. Yes, I killed a man, but it was an accident. And yes, I was going to run away and hide. I couldn't risk her coming with me and get in trouble for something I did.

The death of a loved one is one of the most challenging events I have had to overcome. The summer of 2014, I was just going into my junior year, was one for the books. It was an absolutely amazing summer. My sister had her first baby in May and we were getting to make his first summer his best, but little did we know it would also be his last. We lost him at the end of July. It was one of the hardest things to cope with. So many unanswered questions still to this day stand.

I can still remember vividly the day my mother passed away. My mother passed away at a critical point in my life when I was seventeen years old from a short term illness. She was sick for a week and I remember thinking this could be serious, however, my mother declined to go to the hospital because of the distance and financial hardship. I had loss my father when I was three years old, so my mother was a single mother. I have step sisters and brother, but I was not particularly close to them. Losing my mother was a defining moment in my life for it changed my life irrevocably. I was devastated, but I had to become strong, proactive and it spurred me to choose a new career path.

Moreover, my mother listened to all my fears and nightmares with patience which can only be admired. She covered my heart and soul with caring love.  Her eyes were so soft, wandering, and full of comprehension when they focused on other people. My