What If We Were Photographed?

That day when I returned home from school, my mom’s boyfriend called me asking to speak to my grandmother. Typically, Gus would call my grandmother himself if he wanted to speak with her, which was rare. I found out about my mom going to the hospital from my grandmother after that phone call. The doctor told my family that a stroke afflicted her in the middle of the day. My mom confused the date with her birthday, had trouble getting words out and remembering our family member’s names. The nurse had to take her for walks periodically and exercise her legs and arms because they were weak. Seeing my mother in this condition made me appreciate my mother and everything she does for me tremendously. However, I was terrified for my mother’s health.

Yet,it only washed away a few;the easy sorrows,but the effusive pains remained.Suddenly without warning,a vivid memory of my mother rushed to my mind and my heart constricted.

As the days, weeks, months and years when by. Me and my mom finally came back to Santa fe we were finally back together. Daily, i look forward to waking up each morning to watch my little brother, dad and mom there for me and with a big smile every dad. This made me learn it’s hard to not have a dad around you a dad that you would feel some around with. Even though me and my mom had hard time and also had bad memories but also good

September 27th 2009. I was on my dad’s weekend and my mom was in the hospital for a weeks. I would visit her every day and sometimes bring her flowers. But on september 27th I woke up and walked into my living room and my dad was sitting on the couch looking sad. I asked what was wrong and then a knock was heard on the door it was my step dad and half brother. My step dad had puffy eyes he was crying. He told me to sit down and my brother came out and sat next to me. My dad looked at us and he spoke up your mother had just passed this morning. I was shocked I was hurt I was scared.I didn’t know if i should cry or run away. I’ve learned that losing someone you love is tough.

The time she came home from Arizona, is the time I realized – my mom was sick, like really sick. She went from my happy, energetic mom, to someone so skinny she didn't have the energy to get out of bed some days. My state of denial started to weaken and weaken. What happens at this point? What do I think? What do I do? Letting go of the fact that my mom isn't going to get better was the hardest part. The mom that I love and cherish, the mom that has raised me to be the woman I am today, the mom that taught me right from wrong, the mom that loved me isn't going to be here anymore? I don't think so...at least, I didn't want to think so. But that's it, I had to. All the time I had to think, because what else are you supposed to do? My mom was dying and I couldn't do anything about

My mother’s letter also provided me with a heartfelt, long lasting goodbye. My mother returned after only a week, however, with this note, I was left with the words of love that my mother wrote on paper for me. I come from a tight knit family, so for my mother to

I watched as my family said goodbye as a I lay in my hospital bed, breathing raspily. I told them that I loved them. I tried to reach out for my mother’s hand, but was stopped by the short slack of all the tubes and wires connected to me. She comes closer so she can hold my hand, so she can comfort me in my last moments.

I unbuckled my car seat and leaned forward to see my mother’s tear stricken face. I had never seen my mother cry with such sincerity. Her mascara streaking down her cheeks, creating canals of charcoal grime that tarnished her otherwise flawless face. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as she attempted to talk through another sob. The sight of her pulled me back to only minutes earlier when

I remember it like it was yesterday. The horror of it. She’s gone. I never thought in a million years it’d end like that. A stroke? After beating cancer, not once, but twice. Seriously? The doctors said she’d never wake up, never talk, never recognize me. Why bother keeping her on life support? It’s not her. My dad told us “she’s not going to make it.” My brother, dropping, fell to his knees. A guy 6’2” 220, lost it. That day ruined our family. Mom was the glue, the one who intervened when my dad went military on us. The one who always had your back and took care of us. But now, because of a nation’s lackadaisical attitude towards type two diabetes, she’s dead.

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.

Yesterday is the fourth remembrance years of my mother, Katherine Williams. Since I haven't said a words to her in the last 2 years of her death anniversary. Because I can't bear with what I had a sorrowed with her yearly anniversary by not there with us and me. The words in what I want says to her is NOT ENOUGH, conversely, the memories of what I had spend time with my mother when the good and bad in these days are the best ever I had. I don't matter how much the big or small amount that I had spend time with her, I always remember what is she were do with me by seen whoever the mothers are with their children walked passed each others from the outside or inside of the buildings, in stores, hospital, and more. And yet, it is no reason for

But things are different now — life has a sense of urgency. My mother is dying of lung cancer, a stage four diagnosis. My sister has suffered three devastating miscarriages and we haven’t spoken in months, maybe even a year. I haven’t spoken to my father since late summer, and I can’t seem to shake my resentment for his decade-long absence in my 20s when I needed him, just as I do now.

To this day, I can still remember standing at the end of my driveway watching my mother arrive home from the bus stop. This day was different; she was not coming home empty handed. In fact, she had stopped at a yard sale on the way home and bought a prize for me, a doll named Suzy. This memory, from the age of two, embraces the story of my mother and my entire childhood. In Indianapolis, Indiana in September 1980, I was born to a single mother. Throughout her life, she worked for the phone company in downtown Indianapolis. Even though she raised us through hardships and despair, she always took the time to love my brother and me outwardly. Until second grade, I have no recollection of my father visiting more than three occasions. At last, in fourth grade we began to spend weekends at his house and with his family. Sadly, when I was eleven we learned that my father had cancer. One week before Christmas, after a school music program, I read his obituary in the paper and told my mother he had passed away. From that moment, our family forever changed, specifically my relationship with my mother.

It was a bone chilling January night; my mom received a call at about 11:15 PM, a call that changed my life forever. My Aunt June was on the other line. She was crying so hard my mother could barely understand her. Through the sobbing my mom finally understood that Brian, my cousin, had been in a horrible accident and she didn’t know how bad it was. My mother jumped out of the bed after she hung up the phone. She screamed up the stairs at my sister and me; it was a nerve shrilling scream. I could hear fear in her voice. My mom was always yelling at us growing up if we forgot to do something. She would even get us out of bed to finish something that wasn’t done completely. This particular

It was May 17th, 2011, it was a normal school day when my brother and I were told that my mom called to say that she was picking us up early. I was anxious, wondering why we were going home early and breaking our usual routine. When my mom came to get us, the first thing that I noticed was that she didn’t greet us with her usual smile. I was 9 years old, very observant, but not able to sense what was to come. We got into the car, when I asked my mom where we were going hoping