My Mother Died Today

My Mother Died Today

As I struggle to wipe away the tears, I should probably state the obvious—my mother died. The world feels different now, forever altered by the loss of my mother. Today, October 1, 2021, I lost a piece of my heart when she succumbed to Covid-19 after nearly three weeks in the hospital. The days leading up to her passing were filled with a whirlwind of emotions—sadness, anxiety, helplessness, and a profound sense of isolation. This is my story of navigating through the darkness of grief, the chronic PTSD and state of panic that emerged from my fears, and the faith that sustained me during this harrowing time. I’m alive, but I’m currently grieving her death.


A few hours ago I received a phone call that shattered my world. My mother is dead. My mother had been diagnosed with Covid-19 just a few weeks ago and I was thrust into a reality I never wanted to face. The news felt surreal, as if I were living in a nightmare from which I couldn’t wake. I remember the sinking feeling in my stomach, the tightness in my chest, and the overwhelming sense of dread that washed over me when she originally told me she was diagnosed. My mother was not just my parent; she was my confidante, my best friend, my rock, and my guiding light. She told me that if she would ever catch the coronavirus she would be dead and in the end, it killed her. 


As the days turned into weeks, I found myself waking up each morning with a heavy heart, burdened by the fear that I might receive the call that would change my life forever. The anxiety was relentless, gnawing at my insides and leaving me in a constant state of unease. I would pray fervently, pouring my heart out to God, pleading for my mother’s recovery. I held onto my faith, believing that God had a plan and that he would protect her. But as each day passed, my hope began to wane. I started reading that many people were dying including people much younger than my mother. 


The isolation during this time has been suffocating. I’m not going to lie. Despite working everyday, I felt cut off from the world, trapped in a bubble of despair. Friends and family still continue to reach out, but their words of comfort often feel hollow and I don’t understand why. How could they truly understand the depth of my pain? This constant state of panic leads me to feel like I was drowning in my own sorrow.


I spent many nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. I tend to ruminate so I always thought the worse, especially when it comes to the seriousness of covid and my mother. The tears flowed freely, a constant reminder of the heartache I was experiencing. I felt dead inside, as if a part of me had been ripped away. The weight of my sadness was unbearable and I often wondered how I would ever find my way back to the surface. Today, I feel this way and it was as if I prepared myself for this. 


As my mother’s condition worsened, I felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness. I wanted to be there for her, to hold her hand, to encourage her to continue fighting, and tell her everything would be okay, but I was powerless to change the situation. The hospital restrictions meant I couldn’t visit her and that knowledge gnawed at my soul. I even got vaccinated, when I was originally against the vaccine due it being a rush job, just so I could see her. I felt like I was watching her fight for her life from a distance without physically being with her and it was agonizing. I tried calling the hospital and most phone calls went unanswered. 


In the midst of this turmoil, I clung to the idea of survival. I had to believe that my mother would pull through, that she would eventually go home, and we would be reunited shortly after. I found strength in my faith, praying for her healing and for the strength to endure this nightmare. But as the days turned into weeks, that hope began to feel like a cruel joke, sadly. 


Right now I am so devastated so I apologize for any spelling mistakes. I remember today vividly, as if it were etched into my memory and brain forever. Around 4:30 pm, my phone rang and I saw my mother’s name on the screen. My heart raced as I answered, hoping for good news. But as I listened to her voice, I could hear the fatigue and sadness in her words. She told me she was proud of me and that she loved me. Those words, words meant to comfort me—felt like a farewell. She said goodbye which she rarely ever said to me on the phone. 


In that moment, I knew she was giving up. She expressed how tired she was of fighting and my heart shattered into a million pieces. I tried to encourage her, to remind her of the strength she had always shown, but deep down, I felt the weight of despair pressing down on me. I could sense that this was the end and I knew I was powerless to stop it.


Just a few hours ago, I received the news that would forever change my life. My mother had passed away. The moment I heard those words, I felt as if the ground had been pulled out from beneath me. I stumbled to the bathroom, overwhelmed by nausea and threw up. The world around me faded to black as I collapsed on the floor. I was engulfed in a wave of grief so profound that it felt like I was drowning.


The tears didn’t stop. They aren’t stopping now. It’s doubtful they will stop. As my tears flow freely, a torrent of sorrow manifests my soul endlessly. I feel like I am in a fog, unable to process the reality of what had just happened. My mother, the woman who gave birth to me, who had been my anchor—is gone. The pain is unbearable, a sharp ache in my chest that refused to subside.


At this very moment, I find myself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. The sadness is all-consuming and if I’m being honest, I feel like I am trapped in a never-ending cycle of despair. I experience moments of anger, frustration, and confusion. Why did this happen? Why couldn’t I save her? The questions are haunting me and I am still struggling to find answers, but it’s so exhausting. 


The anxiety that had plagued me during her illness transformed into chronic PTSD, which I can’t seem to shake. For instance, last night alone I would wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, my heart racing as I relived the moments leading up to her death. The fear of losing her had become a reality and I feel like I am living in a constant state of panic which continued until today. I would often find myself withdrawing from the world, isolating myself from friends and family, unable to face the reality of what has happened. 


In the midst of this turmoil, I turn to my faith in God. I find solace in prayer, seeking comfort in the belief that my mother is at peace. She herself told me weeks prior that she knew where she was going. And after all, my mom loved God and everything she did was because of him. I have been constantly praying for strength to carry on, for the ability to honor her memory, and for the courage to face each day without her. My faith became a lifeline, a source of hope in the darkest moments.


Truth be told, I have been really starting to reflect on the lessons my mother had taught me throughout my life. She had always been a source of strength and resilience and I know I have to honor her legacy by finding my own strength. I started to write down my thoughts and feelings in a journal more than I ever have, pouring my heart onto the pages as a way to process all of this. Writing became a form of therapy, allowing me to express the pain that felt too heavy to carry. I’m thankful to be able to write. 


I know that as I continue grieving my mother, I am starting to understand that healing is not linear. There will days when I feel like I am making progress and others when the weight of my grief feels insurmountable. Today, I’m devastated. I learned to be gentle with myself, to allow myself to feel the pain and sadness without judgment. I have sought support from my boyfriend and family (my aunt, cousin, and sister) who have been supportive through everything.


I also find comfort in honoring my mother’s memory. I have been lighting candles nonstop in her honor, taking a moment to reflect on the beautiful memories we shared. It has become a way for me to keep her spirit alive, to celebrate her life even in the midst of just finding out she died. I think I’ll start putting up the Christmas tomorrow. As crazy as that sounds. 


Though the pain of losing mom will never fully fade, I understand that it is possible to carry her memory with me as I navigate life without her. As sad as I’m feeling after finding out she just died. And as I wipe away the tears to write this blog post, I have learned to embrace the moments of joy and laughter, knowing that she would want me to be happy and have a wonderful life ahead. I continue to pray every single day, seeking guidance and strength as I move forward.


The journey of grief is a complex one, filled with ups and downs, but I have come to realize that it is also a journey of love. She just left this world. My mother’s love will forever be a part of me, guiding me as I navigate the challenges of life. I will carry her memory in my heart, honoring her legacy by living a life filled with love, compassion, and resilience forever.


The loss of my mother has left an indelible mark on my soul. The sadness, anxiety, and isolation I experienced during her illness leading up to her death today have shaped me in ways I never expected. But through it all, I have found strength in my faith, solace in my memories, and a renewed sense of purpose, if that makes sense. 


As I continue on this journey through healing, I hold onto the belief that my mother is watching over me, guiding me through the darkness. I will forever cherish the love we shared and I will strive to honor her memory in everything I do now until it is my time to go. Though the pain of her loss will always be a part of my journey, I am determined to find light in the darkness and to carry her spirit with me as I move forward for the rest of my life. 

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