by Morgan Allen
“Morgan, please pack up your things and go down to the office,” my health teacher instructed. Instantly I knew. The time had come.
I was in too much shock to think much of it because I knew exactly what was going to happen. I just did as I was told and went to the office. There stood my father, waiting for my brother and me. The ride home was quiet. My stomach was in tight, pulling knots, and butterflies were inside me wanting to burst out. No one needed to say much. I knew today was the day my mother would die.
One of my strongest memories was a simple visit to the hospital. I was seven years old and in first grade, small for my age. I walked in, and there was my mom, hooked up to what looked like a thousand machines. Dozens of tubes were needled inside her veins, and the thought made me sick. The room was white, cold, and square. It had absolutely no personality whatsoever, nothing that made it even a little bit homey. This dreadful epitome of a room was like a jail cell. I couldn’t help feeling angry at the I.V.s and the oxygen tubes even though deep down I knew they were trying desperately to keep my mother alive. They symbolized that she couldn’t survive on her own.
I remember telling my mom that I got a twenty-four out of twenty-five on my math test, and all she could do was weakly give me a thumbs-up. I could tell it hurt to do just that, and her small, weak, skinny hand could barely muster the strength to raise itself a mere few inches. My mother couldn’t tell me, “Good job, Sweetie!” She couldn’t even smile. She couldn’t speak because she had an oxygen mask around her mouth, muffling her words.
On the way to the elevator, my dad bravely declared to my older brother, sister, and me, “You realize that Mommy is going to die, right?” He winced. Keara and Brad both nodded and stared at the ground as if they’d never seen an elevator floor before.
But I just stood there and stuttered in a weak voice, “What?” My world came crashing down on me. I had not, in fact, realized that my mom was going to die. I had always been told by my parents that she was going to be fine and this would all be over shortly. All I could do was stand there in complete shock, speechless. My head went fully blank– all my thoughts had escaped.
The first emotion I felt was complete devastation. I knew that my life would dramatically change after this point. Not only did I now know that my mom was going to die, but I also knew that I had to watch her suffer in until her body finally gave up. I also realized that my siblings and I would grow up without a mother. Our light in the dark forest would be gone.
The next emotion I felt was anger. I instantly blamed my pain on my mother. My mom’s going to leave me? What kind of mom would leave her children? I decided that only a mother who didn’t love her children would leave them. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to be on Earth to watch us grow and accomplish our goals or to help us get through our downfalls. Automatically, I wanted her to die. If she didn’t want to be with me, then fine. Why should she even stay?
When we went home, I began to watch a movie on the Disney Channel. The main character and her mom were getting into an argument, and the girl stormed out of the house. I clearly remember saying aloud, “At least you have a mother.” If she had someone in the world who loved and cared for her that much and wasn‘t going to leave her anytime soon, why would she act so cruel? If I had a mother who cared about me like that girl did, I would never quarrel with her. I would appreciate her unconditionally. It just didn‘t make sense.
Eventually, my anger subsided, and I realized that my mother didn’t want to leave me and was doing so against her will. She cared about me so much and wasn’t thinking of herself when she went through chemo or even when she was in the hospital struggling to stay alive. She was thinking of her children and how we would manage without her to lead us through life and help us through our obstacles when we needed her most. The last thing she wanted was for me to be alone in the world… without her.
My mother’s death broke the protective shield I thought I had around me, which was exactly what I needed. Without that shield, I have learned to fend for myself in circumstances that I previously would have either avoided or left for someone else to handle. People ask about my mom, and usually I just quietly murmur, “She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry,” they’ll mumble in reply, and then the awkwardness arrives. I don’t like to tell many people that I don’t have a mom because the only thing I get is pity. I don’t want anyone to feel bad for me because I’m so lucky. There are so many people in this world who love and care about me. I’ve been blessed with courage and strength, and here I am at one of the most remarkable schools in the country. What more could I ask for?
One of my favorite quotes is “What doesn‘t kill us makes us stronger.” My mother’s death didn’t kill me; it only strengthened my character. Most young children don’t experience or witness tragedy. Although something was lost, so many other things were gained. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I’m still here on Earth, and that I’m not the one who was taken away from her friends, children, and husband. If my mom hadn’t passed away, there’s a very great possibility that I would still be that same naïve little girl, and I wouldn’t be as prepared for tragedy or be as mature as I am now. My mother’s death definitely made me stronger and who I am today. All I can do now is make her proud of me.
No Comments » | 
Uncategorized | 
Permalink
Posted by mrsrhodesi
