The Day I Stopped Living
July 16, 2018
I like to think of myself as an optimist. As someone who can find the silver lining and the lesson in everything. I am the friend people call when they need encouragement, when they need to remember their greatness, when they have a problem and need help finding a solution, when things are the darkest.
However, on July 16, 2018, my mother died, and there is no silver lining. I found out via a FaceTime call from my father on the day I was excited and moving (to a different state) with my husband of 1 year and when I was looking forward to new beginnings and a home near the beach. I’m sure most people are saddened by the loss of their mother, but my mother was not an ordinary being. She was a full on force to be reckoned with. She used her intelligence and unmatched will to Make Things Happen. She founded a choir that sung together for over 20 years; worked full-time, high-level jobs in academia and diversity solutions; raised two amazing daughters; “adopted” many other children along the way; researched and created an annual, week-long Kwanzaa celebration for us and all the families in our village to celebrate and recognize our uniqueness as Black people in America; had flaws and fought to keep them from her children so that they could believe anything was possible; and so much more. She had cancer; she had multiple surgeries over 10 years; she was declared cancer-free…twice; she had a liver transplant; she spoke at churches about her testimony and continued to be a living testimony to thousands of people all over the world; she worked on a university campus until her body literally gave out; she went on hospice care and our village rallied and took incredible care of her; she went into a coma and after prayer came out of that coma; she organized a celebration of life program with her favorite local gospel artists for her to enjoy while she was still living; and as she was regaining strength sufficient that they were evaluating her to be removed from hospice care, she died.
At 9:01 am EST on July 16, 2018, my father called to tell and show me that he thought my mom was dead, and the change in me was immediate and undesired. I breathed in life and hope, and exhaled lifelessness and hopelessness.
The change in me led to a months-long battle for my mental health, my ability to hold down a job, my confidence in people, the comfort I received from belief in God, and my desire to live. I was not suicidal; I no longer believed life was worth living. If my mother could not meet and help me raise her grandchildren, why have them? If my mother was not there to talk about the joy I felt on my balcony 2 miles from the beach, why even go out there? If my mother was not there to pep talk me through a round of interviews, how could I dream of what’s possible? Two years later, the same questions swirl through my mind. I’ve learned how to blend in with “normal” people, but in reality, I am still not living. I don’t enjoy the here and now nor thoughts of the future, and I’ve come to understand that that is a result of grief and loss.
We are taught by mental health and medical professionals that there are 5 stages of grief that end in “acceptance” (1), socialized to believe that people heal or come to grips with loss. But with my new grief-colored lens and through working with my grief-certified therapist, I believe many others walk around alive but not living because they are dealing with the effects of grief in a society that doesn’t understand it, doesn’t support dealing with it, and doesn’t have appropriate resources to help each of us who will inevitably be smacked by it. For example, my good insurance didn’t cover a therapist who is certified to work with those who have experienced loss (which is very different from therapists who say they can treat grief). Another example, generous jobs give 5 paid days off for bereavement leave, I think with the intent of giving people time to plan for and have a funeral. However, the physical and emotional impact lasts for the rest of one’s life. Every holiday is a reminder, every mother’s day and father’s day, their birthdays and death dates, so many things that cause a pang. Imagine a culture where every office building had a room where people could go and scream at the top of their lungs or call a friend to talk through a trigger response, and people could go there anytime they needed…for the rest of their lives. Something that small would have rolling benefits from healthier individuals to a more productive staff to more culturally responsive organizations. The grieving population is not a minority group, yet it is overlooked and misunderstood like it was one.
I don’t want to be in this place where what my mom fought for in life is belittled by my response to her death, yet I can’t be anything else than what I am right now. But do not get it twisted. This is not a cry for help or encouragement. Do not come anywhere near me with “all things work together for good” or “but you are so strong” or “every pain has a purpose” or “think about the legacy your mom would want you to live” or any other cruel platitude. I am not short on catch phrases or Bible verses. I am short on patience, long on intelligence, and grief has me constantly on edge, and you don’t want those problems. My mother would love me and understand, in spite of any pain or sadness she felt, and hers is the only reply I want to hear.
I hope that the sharing of this snippet of my story helps you do a better job supporting your friends and yourself through grief and loss, makes you propose and fight for change in your organization, and leads to policy and societal changes so that America does a better job supporting those who will never move to acceptance.
- The 5 stages of loss and grief, Axelrod, PsychCentral, July 2020; What you should know about the stages of grief, Holland, Healthline, September 2018; The Five Stages of Grief (TM), Grief.com.
