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- Story Listed as: True Life For Teens
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Death / Heartbreak / Loss
- Published: 03/31/2014
August 10th 2012: A Strike of Shock and Tragedy
Born 1995, F, from Gilbertsville, New York, United States.jpg)
August 10th, 2012: A Sudden Strike of Shock and Tragedy
I lay in bed as I felt somebody shake me lightly as if to try and wake me up. “Rye,” I heard a sweet voice say. “Can you come out for a minute? Grandma and grandpa want to talk to you.” I rolled over a little bit to see that my cousin was to the left of me, then I remembered that I had spent the night at my cousins’ house the previous night, which is where I basically lived during the summer. I didn’t know what time it was, but it was still a little bit dark outside, so I knew it was either very early in the morning on Friday or very late at night on Thursday. Anyway, it was so early that I could barely function. You know how when you’re woken up from a deep sleep and you don’t know what’s going on? This was one of those times for me. So I got up without questioning the reason.
I followed my aunt down the hallway to her living room, where I saw my grandparents standing. I thought that was weird for some reason. I figured maybe my grandfather was on the phone and needed to talk to me about something, after all, soccer season was going to start the following Monday.
My grandfather stood expressionless as he held his arms out for a hug. I didn’t understand why he was doing that, but again, it was too early for me to function. “What, are you gonna sleep all day?” he questioned as in a joking manner. I hugged him with one arm while rubbing my morning sleepy-eyes with my other hand.
“No,” I answered in a half-witted manner. His embrace grew tighter.
“Your mother passed away,” he said bluntly, yet softly, as if saying it softly would help me remain calm. It didn’t. Just then, I began to come out of my confused morning phase. The way he said it suddenly corresponds to the way I suddenly began to feel lost.
I felt my heart sink and my heart beat began to increase until it reached what seemed to be a maximum rate, almost pounding out of my chest. I began to cry frantically. “No she didn’t!” I cried. My grandfather kept holding on to me as I tried to jump and wiggle from his hold. I felt my hand hitting against his shoulder. “No she didn’t! No she didn’t, no…” I said as my crying began to over-power my words. I couldn’t speak any longer, just cry and scream.
My heart continued to beat so fast. I felt such a great deal of despondency rush through me again and again, and I knew the pain wouldn’t go away any time soon. Still being held in my grandfather’s arms, I sobbed and cried. How could my mother be gone? I literally just saw her a week ago. Granted, she had been sick on and off with breathing problems, but last week when I saw her, she seemed much better. She was joking and laughing. And she had inhalers, which, last I knew, always made her feel better. I just didn’t understand how, in just a matter of moments, one of the most important people in your life can have gone away.
I looked at the couch as I continued to sob and noticed that my cousin, Brianna, was there. She sat there with a sad and shocked expression. Then I heard footsteps coming from the direction of the hallway, and I turned, tear filled eyes, to see my cousin Sam standing there. “What happened?!” She questioned.
“My mom died!” I managed to burst out as I cried, and saying it only made me cry even more, which I didn’t even think was possible at that time. Sam’s hands lifted and her jaw dropped as she brought her hands toward her face to cover her mouth. She was shocked too. I was shocked. I didn’t know how that could have happened in such a short period of time.
I looked around, and I couldn’t see very well since my eyes were welled up with tears. But I made out the figures of my family: I saw my aunt standing at the bar in the kitchen with her elbows on the bar and her head in her hand—expressionless, yet with sympathetic eyes. My uncle stood beside her with the same sympathetic look. My grandfather told me that my mother’s body was still at her house, and that coroners were waiting to take her body away, so I had to get my stuff so he could bring me to see her before they took her.
Just hearing him say the words “your mother’s body” was enough to melt my heart the rest of the way. Burn it, rather. It burned my heart… It burned all of me. And the pain and sadness was all I could think about as I walked back to Sam’s room and gathered my things to leave. I was hurriedly packing everything into my pink duffel bag when Brianna came into the room. She put her hand on the doorway and leaned against it. She opened her mouth, but it seemed like she didn’t know what to say. Who would know what to say? There is nothing to say at a time like this. “I’m sorry,” fled from her mouth. The sympathy in her eyes and in her apology made me cry again.
I looked at her for a second before I tried to speak. Again, my crying made it hard to speak, but I managed to say, without pauses: “I can’t believe she’s dead and I could have been there for her.” And that was the truth. I could have been there so much more than I was, and the amount of guilt about that hit me as soon as I heard the words “your mother passed away.” Why couldn’t I have pieced together that she was fatally ill? She had been in and out of the hospital many times because she couldn’t breathe, yet I still couldn’t piece together that she was deathly ill. How selfish can one be? I was so ashamed of myself.
Brianna’s eyes began to fill with tears as she said “It’s not your fault.” I could see in her face and in her body language that she was sad, too. Her voice and the fact that she cried illustrated her sympathy and sadness.
I walked back to the living room where Sam, my aunt, and my uncle stood at the doorway. As I was walking out the door, I received hugs and was told that if I needed anything that all I needed to do is let them know. And before I knew it, I was in the car on my way to see my mother’s dead body for my second to last goodbye, second to her funeral.
During the car ride, all I could think about was how sad I was and how angry I was. And that’s all I felt, really. Negative emotions, destructive emotions. My mom--the person I would go to with any problem I had, one of my best friends since day one—was gone; she died. And I was woken up from a deep sleep and given the news; it was traumatizing, to be honest. And heartbreaking, it felt like I was being shot with a million bullets at once. How was I supposed to process such devastating, unreal information? And really, it all did seem unreal, but I knew it wasn’t. I could only wish to myself that it was some horrible nightmare…How thankful I would be if that were the case.
As I got to the destination, I noticed that my entire family on my mom’s side was there too. It all started to feel like a huge weight was on me, and more and more weight was being added as time went on. And to this day, it still feels that way sometimes. I saw my brother and my sister outside, but honestly, everything around me seemed to be a blur at that moment. I felt sick to my stomach; I was at the house in which my mother had passed away, the house in which she took her last breath and said her last words, and I wasn’t there with her and I wasn’t there to comfort her while she did so. I began to feel tears stream from my eyes again, but this time it was a quiet weeping.
My cousin Heather came outside to bring me in to see my mother. I didn’t feel ready for it at all. I can’t explain how I felt about going in to see my mother’s dead body; all I can say is that I felt completely heartbroken and sorrowful. As Heather opened the door to the room in which my mother was, I began to panic. My heart beat yet again increased rapidly, and the pounding was almost unbearable. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion… And then the door fully opened and revealed what I wished was a deceiving site to my eyes, what I wished could have been a horrible nightmare that I would wake up from soon. The opened door exposed what I wished I would never have to see, especially at such a young age: my mother’s deceased corpse. Her dead, bluish-purple colored body lay on the floor, her mouth hanging open as if her last breath of air had been a struggle—which it probably was. I felt instantly empty. Seeing her lying there on the hard floor, eyes closed and mouth ajar, motionless and still, confirmed that this was definitely not a dream. This was real.
I started to cry again, louder this time. I felt an emptiness inside me that seemed like nothing would ever take away the empty feeling. I stared at her deceased body, but the image of it started to fade as the tears filled my eyes. “I can’t keep looking,” I said in a hoarse crying voice. So Heather took me out of the room, and we went outside.
A few minutes later, the coroners carried out a filled, black body bag that contained my mother’s body. I cried as I watched them load her into the back of their vehicle. The wet tears were continuous, and the underside of my eyes and my cheeks began to feel chapped and tight from them. All I could think about was my sadness and how unbelievable this all was. How could God take away one of the most important people in my life? Why would God take her? She has three children who need her so much. Guilty, heartbroken, repentance, remorse… I felt every painful emotion possible. The two that seemed to outnumber the rest were the guilt and the sheer misery. I was so mad at myself for not having realized that she was so sick, and I was mad at myself for thinking that her breathing would have miraculously improved and replenished. How could I be so horrible? And how could my mother have left this world? I was filled with questions, sadness, and anger at God.
She was a beautiful person who lived a beautiful life. I still question why such a wonderful person was taken from us. I still wonder why God takes the good ones so early on in life. And that He did, she was only 47. She could have lived a much longer life, so why was she cursed with a literal breath taking, oxygen depriving illness? I didn’t understand, and I still don’t understand. I find myself thinking every single day about the morning I found out that she died; I remember every second of that day in bitter detail. It was unbelievable. It was heartbreaking. And it was traumatizing. And when I think about the amount of pain that rushed through my body that morning, it all begins to happen all over again as if I’m reliving that traumatic, devastating event. Not that it isn’t still devastating, because it is. People said that it would get easier, but it doesn’t. How could dealing with the fact that your mother died get easier? I’ll never speak to her again, see her absolutely beautiful face, or get her helpful and necessary advice; how could that get easier? It can’t, and it won’t. I still, to this day, miss her more than words can explain—no matter how cliché that sounds, it’s the truth. I still feel guilty for not having spent more time with her, and I can’t change it now, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t wish that I could. These thoughts haunt my mind every day. A piece of me is gone. A piece of me will never be restored or returned. When my mom left this world, she took some of me with her, yet she also left a piece of her with me. I carry her with me every day, and I feel honored to have had the privilege of being her daughter.
I love you mom.
August 10th 2012: A Strike of Shock and Tragedy(Mariah Jane Bliss)
August 10th, 2012: A Sudden Strike of Shock and Tragedy
I lay in bed as I felt somebody shake me lightly as if to try and wake me up. “Rye,” I heard a sweet voice say. “Can you come out for a minute? Grandma and grandpa want to talk to you.” I rolled over a little bit to see that my cousin was to the left of me, then I remembered that I had spent the night at my cousins’ house the previous night, which is where I basically lived during the summer. I didn’t know what time it was, but it was still a little bit dark outside, so I knew it was either very early in the morning on Friday or very late at night on Thursday. Anyway, it was so early that I could barely function. You know how when you’re woken up from a deep sleep and you don’t know what’s going on? This was one of those times for me. So I got up without questioning the reason.
I followed my aunt down the hallway to her living room, where I saw my grandparents standing. I thought that was weird for some reason. I figured maybe my grandfather was on the phone and needed to talk to me about something, after all, soccer season was going to start the following Monday.
My grandfather stood expressionless as he held his arms out for a hug. I didn’t understand why he was doing that, but again, it was too early for me to function. “What, are you gonna sleep all day?” he questioned as in a joking manner. I hugged him with one arm while rubbing my morning sleepy-eyes with my other hand.
“No,” I answered in a half-witted manner. His embrace grew tighter.
“Your mother passed away,” he said bluntly, yet softly, as if saying it softly would help me remain calm. It didn’t. Just then, I began to come out of my confused morning phase. The way he said it suddenly corresponds to the way I suddenly began to feel lost.
I felt my heart sink and my heart beat began to increase until it reached what seemed to be a maximum rate, almost pounding out of my chest. I began to cry frantically. “No she didn’t!” I cried. My grandfather kept holding on to me as I tried to jump and wiggle from his hold. I felt my hand hitting against his shoulder. “No she didn’t! No she didn’t, no…” I said as my crying began to over-power my words. I couldn’t speak any longer, just cry and scream.
My heart continued to beat so fast. I felt such a great deal of despondency rush through me again and again, and I knew the pain wouldn’t go away any time soon. Still being held in my grandfather’s arms, I sobbed and cried. How could my mother be gone? I literally just saw her a week ago. Granted, she had been sick on and off with breathing problems, but last week when I saw her, she seemed much better. She was joking and laughing. And she had inhalers, which, last I knew, always made her feel better. I just didn’t understand how, in just a matter of moments, one of the most important people in your life can have gone away.
I looked at the couch as I continued to sob and noticed that my cousin, Brianna, was there. She sat there with a sad and shocked expression. Then I heard footsteps coming from the direction of the hallway, and I turned, tear filled eyes, to see my cousin Sam standing there. “What happened?!” She questioned.
“My mom died!” I managed to burst out as I cried, and saying it only made me cry even more, which I didn’t even think was possible at that time. Sam’s hands lifted and her jaw dropped as she brought her hands toward her face to cover her mouth. She was shocked too. I was shocked. I didn’t know how that could have happened in such a short period of time.
I looked around, and I couldn’t see very well since my eyes were welled up with tears. But I made out the figures of my family: I saw my aunt standing at the bar in the kitchen with her elbows on the bar and her head in her hand—expressionless, yet with sympathetic eyes. My uncle stood beside her with the same sympathetic look. My grandfather told me that my mother’s body was still at her house, and that coroners were waiting to take her body away, so I had to get my stuff so he could bring me to see her before they took her.
Just hearing him say the words “your mother’s body” was enough to melt my heart the rest of the way. Burn it, rather. It burned my heart… It burned all of me. And the pain and sadness was all I could think about as I walked back to Sam’s room and gathered my things to leave. I was hurriedly packing everything into my pink duffel bag when Brianna came into the room. She put her hand on the doorway and leaned against it. She opened her mouth, but it seemed like she didn’t know what to say. Who would know what to say? There is nothing to say at a time like this. “I’m sorry,” fled from her mouth. The sympathy in her eyes and in her apology made me cry again.
I looked at her for a second before I tried to speak. Again, my crying made it hard to speak, but I managed to say, without pauses: “I can’t believe she’s dead and I could have been there for her.” And that was the truth. I could have been there so much more than I was, and the amount of guilt about that hit me as soon as I heard the words “your mother passed away.” Why couldn’t I have pieced together that she was fatally ill? She had been in and out of the hospital many times because she couldn’t breathe, yet I still couldn’t piece together that she was deathly ill. How selfish can one be? I was so ashamed of myself.
Brianna’s eyes began to fill with tears as she said “It’s not your fault.” I could see in her face and in her body language that she was sad, too. Her voice and the fact that she cried illustrated her sympathy and sadness.
I walked back to the living room where Sam, my aunt, and my uncle stood at the doorway. As I was walking out the door, I received hugs and was told that if I needed anything that all I needed to do is let them know. And before I knew it, I was in the car on my way to see my mother’s dead body for my second to last goodbye, second to her funeral.
During the car ride, all I could think about was how sad I was and how angry I was. And that’s all I felt, really. Negative emotions, destructive emotions. My mom--the person I would go to with any problem I had, one of my best friends since day one—was gone; she died. And I was woken up from a deep sleep and given the news; it was traumatizing, to be honest. And heartbreaking, it felt like I was being shot with a million bullets at once. How was I supposed to process such devastating, unreal information? And really, it all did seem unreal, but I knew it wasn’t. I could only wish to myself that it was some horrible nightmare…How thankful I would be if that were the case.
As I got to the destination, I noticed that my entire family on my mom’s side was there too. It all started to feel like a huge weight was on me, and more and more weight was being added as time went on. And to this day, it still feels that way sometimes. I saw my brother and my sister outside, but honestly, everything around me seemed to be a blur at that moment. I felt sick to my stomach; I was at the house in which my mother had passed away, the house in which she took her last breath and said her last words, and I wasn’t there with her and I wasn’t there to comfort her while she did so. I began to feel tears stream from my eyes again, but this time it was a quiet weeping.
My cousin Heather came outside to bring me in to see my mother. I didn’t feel ready for it at all. I can’t explain how I felt about going in to see my mother’s dead body; all I can say is that I felt completely heartbroken and sorrowful. As Heather opened the door to the room in which my mother was, I began to panic. My heart beat yet again increased rapidly, and the pounding was almost unbearable. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion… And then the door fully opened and revealed what I wished was a deceiving site to my eyes, what I wished could have been a horrible nightmare that I would wake up from soon. The opened door exposed what I wished I would never have to see, especially at such a young age: my mother’s deceased corpse. Her dead, bluish-purple colored body lay on the floor, her mouth hanging open as if her last breath of air had been a struggle—which it probably was. I felt instantly empty. Seeing her lying there on the hard floor, eyes closed and mouth ajar, motionless and still, confirmed that this was definitely not a dream. This was real.
I started to cry again, louder this time. I felt an emptiness inside me that seemed like nothing would ever take away the empty feeling. I stared at her deceased body, but the image of it started to fade as the tears filled my eyes. “I can’t keep looking,” I said in a hoarse crying voice. So Heather took me out of the room, and we went outside.
A few minutes later, the coroners carried out a filled, black body bag that contained my mother’s body. I cried as I watched them load her into the back of their vehicle. The wet tears were continuous, and the underside of my eyes and my cheeks began to feel chapped and tight from them. All I could think about was my sadness and how unbelievable this all was. How could God take away one of the most important people in my life? Why would God take her? She has three children who need her so much. Guilty, heartbroken, repentance, remorse… I felt every painful emotion possible. The two that seemed to outnumber the rest were the guilt and the sheer misery. I was so mad at myself for not having realized that she was so sick, and I was mad at myself for thinking that her breathing would have miraculously improved and replenished. How could I be so horrible? And how could my mother have left this world? I was filled with questions, sadness, and anger at God.
She was a beautiful person who lived a beautiful life. I still question why such a wonderful person was taken from us. I still wonder why God takes the good ones so early on in life. And that He did, she was only 47. She could have lived a much longer life, so why was she cursed with a literal breath taking, oxygen depriving illness? I didn’t understand, and I still don’t understand. I find myself thinking every single day about the morning I found out that she died; I remember every second of that day in bitter detail. It was unbelievable. It was heartbreaking. And it was traumatizing. And when I think about the amount of pain that rushed through my body that morning, it all begins to happen all over again as if I’m reliving that traumatic, devastating event. Not that it isn’t still devastating, because it is. People said that it would get easier, but it doesn’t. How could dealing with the fact that your mother died get easier? I’ll never speak to her again, see her absolutely beautiful face, or get her helpful and necessary advice; how could that get easier? It can’t, and it won’t. I still, to this day, miss her more than words can explain—no matter how cliché that sounds, it’s the truth. I still feel guilty for not having spent more time with her, and I can’t change it now, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t wish that I could. These thoughts haunt my mind every day. A piece of me is gone. A piece of me will never be restored or returned. When my mom left this world, she took some of me with her, yet she also left a piece of her with me. I carry her with me every day, and I feel honored to have had the privilege of being her daughter.
I love you mom.
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