I don’t know why I’m writing this. I’ve only written about this once for a short story in my English class but couldn’t even read it without a tear slipping out. I’ve never been good with expressing myself openly but writing and art are where I can truly express myself without fear of others’ reactions.

I need to write this for myself.

Writing about what happened this past summer still brings me to tears. It was a roller coaster of emotions. I was so angry with God for doing this to my mother, mad at myself for fighting with her before it all happened, I became broken and depressed at the thought that I could lose my mother at any moment.

I remember the morning when I woke, the sun was slipping through the breaks in the blinds distributing light into the room. My eyes fluttered open as I ripped the covers from my body exposing myself to the cool air. I pushed myself up and out of bed and let my feet hit the floor with a thump. The carpet was soft, yet alarming as my body came to life, the feeling of sleep leaving me. I shuffled to my closet throwing on my grey sweatpants and exited my bedroom.

I slowly walked downstairs trying not to wake my mom up from the loud sound that would come from my feet making contact with the steps. I went to check if she was still asleep by creeping up to the door and slowly opening it. The bed was empty so I walked in looking in the bathroom. I stepped out of her room after checking the bathroom and called out into the living room.

My voice echoed throughout the house then soaked up the air surrounding me. I waited as I heard my sister exit her room. She looked down at me and started to descend down the staircase.

“She isn’t here,” she roughly stated.

“Then where is she?” I stared at my sister waiting for an answer.

“She had a friend bring her to the hospital this morning around 7.”

I just looked at her. Why would mom go to the hospital? Why didn’t she wake me and tell me herself?

“Laura and Dad are going to come get us around 1.”

The only word I could let leave my lips was, “okay.”

I jogged up the stairs packing a few clothes to bring over. We were picked up that afternoon and taken to my dad’s house.  My father and stepmom, Laura, informed us what was happening as soon as they got information. I knew there was more than what they told me, so I took matters into my own hands.

I searched up the virus and clicked onto the first link. I froze as I read what it said. My mother could die and they didn’t tell me. How could they hide something like this from me. Once the information finally registered I became depressed and my anxiety immediately became worse.

It went from a night, to a week, then a month. I went to my best friend, Christina’s house, one night to inform her of what was happening with my mom. Not five minutes into it I was already bawling and starting to have a panic until the words “mimi” flashed across my phoned.

I answered the call hearing a voice I had longed to hear for a while. My hands shook vigorously and my breathing increased as I heard my mother’s soothing voice whisper, “Hey baby.”

My eyes filled with tears as I covered my mouth in surprise. ”Mama,” was the only word I could say. I put her on speaker as I cried and cuddled with my best friend. It was so comforting to hear her voice again.

I told her of recent events such as my eighth grade graduation and getting a boyfriend. Days had passed with texts of prayers and messages from family and friends. I can remember one night very clearly. I had started to question if God was truly real but that night I had prayed to him for the first time in years. I yelled at him, cursing him for doing this to my mother and for putting us through this. I did this for hours until I just started to cry.

I remember falling to the ground feeling too weak as my body shook like a hurricane and just begged him not to take my mother, not to let her be in pain, help her be strong. I felt so alone. I couldn’t lose my mom.

She’s my rock, the person who knows me inside and out, my hero, my inspiration I just couldn’t lose her.

That night I had a dream with my uncle who had passed twenty years before and my great grandmother. They told me everything would be okay and for some reason I believed them.

The first time I saw my mom, I remember walking up to the door, unable to move. I remember how the second I touched the knob a shiver ran up and down my spine. The way the door clicked open and how heavy it was. Rushing into the room seeing my mom’s dark blue eyes and how the skin around them wrinkles when she smiles. I ran to her, hugging her, crying into her shoulder. Just letting her hold me.

Tears streamed down my face as though they would never stop. I hadn’t cried a whole lot since she left. Only the time she called me the rest of the time I just felt numb. I just let the emotions override and spill out of me.

We talked for a good thirty minutes until she was too tired. I didn’t want to leave her unsure if I did that I might not see her again. We had made videos every week just to inform her what was going on so she didn’t miss out.

I had eventually learned that I could have seen her and was disturbed that my parents and grandmother wouldn’t let me but I also understood why they wouldn’t. When she was moved to rehab it became harder to see her. All the tubes and the setting was all too much. It’s not that I didn’t want to because I did but it was all too much to handle.

One day I decided to express my discomfort and made a time where I could see her one-on-one. She listened to every word that poured out of my mouth. Held me through every tear that slid down my face. I hadn’t told her yet of my depression or anxiety and how bad it had become.