My Mommy and How She Became Happy(Aidan) Mommy

November 5, 2011. That was the last day I ever saw my mother. She was working on her computer, and suddenly slouched down on the couch, empty eyes staring at nothing. My sister and I freaked out and shouted for our Dad to come downstairs. He got her on the floor while my sister called 911. It seemed like forever while we waited for the paramedics to come. They rushed in with their equipment and a stretcher. I caught snatches of conversation. Siezure. I was so overwhelmed by it all that I confused siezure with stroke. And then I was even more scared. When they finally picked up the stretcher, I whispered, "Mommy." I should have said it louder. I should have said, "I love you." That is my biggest regret. Because, after the moment that stretcher rolled past, I would never see her again. 

My sister and I went over to our neighbors house. My sister was crying. I was okay on the outside, but, in my head, I was flinging questions at whoever could hear them. What's wrong with my Mommy? Will she be alright? Why...? How...? Why...? Why? We stayed at our neighbors that night. It was like a sort of vacation, because they have kids that we could play with. But this wasn't a happy sort of vacation, at least for me. The whole time, there were two questions in my mind, hanging over my head like those dark clouds from cartoons. What's wrong with my Mommy? And will she be okay? 

We went back home the next day. Our Dad sat my sister and I down. He told us that Mommy had a blood vessel that was bleeding in her brain. No one knows why it happened, and we probably never will. She had undergone surgery to try to stop the bleeding, and was now in a coma. He said that she could, maybe, be out of the hospital by Christmas. And then I started waiting for that Christmas. Hoping for my Mommy to be there with all my heart. 

The next two weeks were the longest in my life. Some nights we would be at our neighbors, my Dad at the hospital sleeping outside Mommy's door. Other nights we would be at home together. But it wouldn't feel like home, not without Mommy. My Dad kept telling us that they were hoping, but that my Mommy was very, very sick. And they weren't sure if she would be okay. When my Dad told us that, I started praying every night as I fell asleep. I was praying to God, who I had never been shown was really out there. And this was the time when I most doubted that He existed. Because how could He take a twelve-year-old girl's Mommy, a woman who had entirely changed the lives of her daughters and five other girls, who had helped hundreds of people save money, who had inspired countless parents to help their children to achieve their dreams? Why would he hurt her? Why? Why? Why!!!?

November 19, 2011. My Dad came home from the hospital. Three of my aunts were with him. Something felt wrong.  My Dad walked over to the couch where my sister, MooMoo (my grandma on my Mommy's side), and I sat. He choked out the words that changed my life, "Mommy's dying." I immediately burst into tears, along with everyone in the room. I kept thinking and talking about the little things that my Mommy did, crying the whole time. For half an hour, I cried. Why me? Why this family? Why is my Mommy being ripped away from me? At least she was still alive. I said that I wanted to go to the hospital and see her one last time. My Dad said he would take me. I never got the chance. November 19, 2011. 11:00 PM. My mother. My Mommy. She was dead. 

The anguish was unbearable. I was mad at myself for not saying that I love her more often. Mad that my sister called 911, not me. Mad that I didn't say anything to her. Mad that I never saw her in the hospital. But, most of all, mad that I never said goodbye. I didn't lash out. I kept all of this anger, this sad, furious, helpless, anger inside. I kept thinking of happy moments from her life. Playing baseball with stale baguettes. Having toothpaste squirting contests. Robotics competitions. Cuddling her. Hugging her. Her laugh. Her voice. Her face. And then I cried more. Because I couldn't remember. Her face. I couldn't remember it except for the way it is in pictures. Not her face laughing or smiling or speaking. And her voice. The answering machine recording she did didn't work. I couldn't remember her voice when she was happy, excited, or sarcastic. I couldn't remember. I still can't remember. And I cried myself to sleep because she would never see me graduate from high school or college, never see me get married, never be a grandmother. I cried because she would never do anything again. Ever. 

We had the funeral that December. There was more crying. More tears. A funeral. But now, six months later, everything was flooding back at me. At night, my mind would drift to not only thinking of Mommy's death, but my own. I became terrified of the moment when I would find myself on a bed, falling asleep, and not waking up. I became traumatized by the fact that, someday, I wouldn't exist anymore. I became scared of what would happen on Earth without me around to see. I was haunted by the thought that I would be forgotten. There was probably a moment at that time that I didn't believe in Him. I couldn't see how there could be a Heaven. To me, being with my dad, sister, her friends, and I was my Mommy's heaven. There was nothing better than that. It followed me around all day. Someday, I would lose my Heaven. And the blackness of nonexistence would swallow me up forever. I would sob myself to sleep at night, dreading that that moment would come all too soon. 

September 9, 2012. I went to Sunday School. We had a sort of  adoration thing in the church, where all of the middle and high schoolers sat in church together with the host on the alter, talking to God. On a whim, I started asking God about Mommy, thinking he wouldn't answer, but hoping that he would. And then an image appeared. An old man in flowing pure white robes, God, I suppose, led my Mommy through an intricate golden arch and up a staircase of stardust that led up to a bank of clouds floating in a perfect blue sky. I then saw Mommy with angel wings, wearing light blue robes a few shades darker than the blue of the sky. Her hair was curly and long, and her glasses were gone. She was beautiful. She saw my Papa, her dad, and embraced him. She saw pets she had had as a kid. And my Grandma on my dad's side was there, too. There were other people along with those. People that my Mommy had loved. They all formed teams and played a giant game of bread ball (that's what we called the game of baseball with baguettes). They had toothpaste squirting contests, painting the clouds red and blue and white. 

Mommy did her little happy dance. The entire time I saw her, she was smiling. She danced through stardust and walked towards me, standing at the edge of heaven next to God. Happiness seemed to pour out of her and Him and into me. For the first time in my life, I cried tears of joy. I was truly happy for the first time in almost a year. Because she is happy. And that's all that matters. 

Since then, my faith in God has been strengthened. I have not cried myself to sleep since that night. I no longer am so scared of death, because I know that there is a place for me to be when it happens. And I am just so much happier because my mom is happy. Mommy is happy. I still can't believe it. She is happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy! 

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