For some, Mother’s Day is a marker of grief

By Aaminah Matthews
Baltimore Watchdog Staff Writer

My mother’s birthday is on the sixth day of May, just a week before Mother’s Day. I wish she were here to celebrate both.

The idea of grief is something that no one really teaches you how to deal with. It’s not something that you can really ever learn either. Not until you experience it. I remember being 5 years old and terrified of death. It seemed so never ending. The idea of forever just didn’t seem appealing.

When I was 6, I remember my mom telling me she had gallstones. I didn’t have any idea what a gallbladder was but hearing that she had stones in her body was scary enough. The doctors said they were so big she would have to get surgery to remove them.

The day of the surgery I remember her comforting my siblings and I, five young kids, even though she is the one in a hospital bed in pain. After the surgery, the doctor came and told us everything went well. That wasn’t the truth.

They had made a mistake. They had nicked her liver, leaving her with internal bleeding. They rushed to save her life. I remember seeing her in the hospital bed—so frail and sleeping. It was the scariest state I could see my mom in. I never wanted to see her in a hospital bed again. I prayed at that moment for my mom to live forever.

I wish that were true for all parents.

Fifteen years later, I’ve learned:
Parents don’t live forever.
Adulting is exhausting.
The pain of losing someone doesn’t subside.
Grief groups are bulls***.

On September 17, 2020, my mother was tragically shot during a domestic violence incident by my stepfather. I was 21 and home at the time with my younger sister, 15. My mother’s heart stopped three times, causing her to lose too much oxygen to her brain. She never woke up. On October 9, 2020, my siblings and I made the decision to lay her to rest.

This ultimately has taught me I’ll inevitably lose all of my friends because I won’t relate to anyone anymore. The idea of living my life the same way just isn’t appealing, and the thought always crosses my mind of whether my mom would be happy about the future I’m pursuing for myself.

It means constantly blaming myself for her death because what if I just gave her CPR for just a little bit longer. What if I had found the wound and plugged it a little bit earlier? What if I had spoken up and told someone about the truth: that my household was abusive?

Three years and lots of therapy later not much has changed. I may always live the rest of my life lost. However, I have learned some things.

Giving myself structure is the best thing I could do for myself. Although losing a parent is devastating, it has made me stronger. I’ve appreciate all of the lessons she taught me, lessons that I used to shrug off. Knowing how to be both book smart and street smart comes in handy.

According to Psych Central, of young adults between 20 and 24, nearly 10% have experienced the death of one or both parents. Learning this has given me the perspective that while grief is subjective to each individual, I’m not alone and I’m not the only person who has experienced the death of a parent. I am surviving and learning as I go. So each year as her birthday rolls around and Mother’s Day follows, I travel to the cemetery to wish her well because she’ll always be a mother and that doesn’t change.