The day my mother passed after fighting non-Hodgkins lymphoma for about two years. She was in remission but it came back. The car accident she was in the winter didn’t help, it made her weaker. I’m not here to give the full story, I probably did already. Im here to talk about how much has changed since.
Imagine if she was diagnosed with it during a pandemic, her chances to survive could have been less. Who cares. That’s all I’m saying about that.
I was going to get married. My mother knew in her heart she wouldn’t live longer than 3 months to be there. She didn’t even discuss it with me. I had a feeling she wouldn’t. I regretted showing her my dress and not putting it on for her. She was buried in the dress she was going to wear to my wedding. I had to live with that forever on top of some drama I called her about when she was in the hospital.
There I was again, refusing to commit and trying to have fun when hell was around me. I was about to get marry and I was having sex with some strange man I hardly know in the woods. It was supposed to distract me from sleeping with my ‘guy friend’ but it didn’t. Was I having fun? No. I was trying to distract myself from the truth. My mother is dying. I’m afraid to get married. Boo who.
Then it happened. Instead of me getting better, I got worse. I locked away all my emotions. I got married though I wasn’t feeling like it. Things got sour and I stumbled upon someone new. Not just new, he was going to be my future supervisor. I didn’t know it. I denied any attraction I had towards him until one day. We made out in an empty lot. It was intense and different from anything I’ve felt in a long time. We began hooking up. We accidentally said those three words.
He left. I realized he was right that I never dealt with my mother’s death. I stopped fucking around. I became a mother… now I understand.