Another Piece of the Trauma: The Day My Mom Died

The day my mom passed away was the day my life changed forever. It was Saturday, May 11, 2024—the day before Mother’s Day. That was the moment my heart shattered into a million pieces, and the grief I felt is something I can’t truly put into words. The trauma of that day is still with me, and unpacking it feels like a never-ending process, but I want to share it—because it’s part of my journey.

It all started when my mom got sick. I knew she was unwell, but I didn’t know how serious it was. She had been in and out of the hospital, and I thought it was just another rough patch. When she came to Atlanta to take care of me, I could tell something was off. It wasn’t just physical; there was a heaviness to her presence that I couldn’t ignore. She wasn’t the woman I remembered, but I didn’t know how bad things had gotten.

I went to Michigan to visit her, hoping to make things better. I stayed with her that night, but the next day, I left for a few errands and dinner. When I called her that night, she said she had to get a procedure done, but when I returned early the next morning, I learned the truth. There was no procedure—she just wanted me by her side for her last days.

When I arrived at the hospital, we spoke briefly. I could barely make out her words, and then she became unresponsive. I could feel her spirit slipping away, and I knew, deep down, that she wasn’t going to make it. Her blood pressure was dropping, and things were deteriorating fast. I called her family, even though I don’t consider them my family. But that’s a story for another time—there’s a lot to unpack there, an additional piece of the trauma. Family is supposed to love, support, listen, and not judge. Unfortunately, that wasn’t always the case with my mom’s immediate family. They came to the hospital, prayed, and spoke affirmations, but I could feel it—it was her time.

For two days, the medical team tried to stabilize her, but I knew in my heart it was the end. I watched with my own eyes as they tried to resuscitate her—an image that haunts me every single day. I stayed by her side, never leaving except for brief moments to regain my strength, all while clinging to a fragile hope. But deep down, I felt the certainty that death was near—it’s a spiritual thing. You can feel death’s spirit, and I felt it in every fiber of my being.

And then, she was gone. The world shifted beneath me, and the person who shaped me, who gave me life and taught me to be fearless, was no longer physically here.

My relationship with my mom was complicated, but the love we shared was undeniable. Our bond was strong, deep, and passionate, and no one will ever love me like she did. Honestly, no one could. She was My First Love—the one who taught me to stand up for myself, to be kind, open, and fearless. She is the reason I walk my own path, the reason I’m able to stand tall no matter what life throws my way.

She gave me everything, even in her mistakes, her struggles, and the challenges she faced. She wasn’t perfect, but her imperfections shaped me into who I am today. I am a world-changer, and no matter what people may say or think, all the credit for who I’ve become goes to her. Her love, her flaws, and her resilience are embedded in everything I do.

Losing her was more than just the loss of a mother. It was the loss of the person who taught me to be unapologetically me. And that’s another piece of the trauma I carry with me every single day.