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December 12, 2011
A few months ago my mom was forgetting things most people would remember. Then she collapsed outside the Raley’s in Benicia. My grandmother took her to the hospital, and doctors sent her to another one, in Sacramento. There, she was diagnosed with a one-inch tumor in the middle of her brain.
My grandmother told the doctors not to tell me that my mother was going to die, but that she might get better. When I moved in with my dad and stepmom, my grandma told them not to tell me.
“Bullsh*t,” is what my dad said to this secrecy. “I will not lie to you; you have the right to know.”
When my dad had me go to someone who could break the bad news to me quickly, I burst into tears—not because my mom was dying but because my grandmother was not going to tell me and was going to deceive me until she actually died.
We don’t always react to death in “normal” or predictable ways. What hurt the most, at that moment, was knowing that my grandma would lie to me to “ease the pain.”
She thought this would protect my feelings, but actually if I hadn’t found out my mother was definitely going to die, I might have been even more devastated when she did pass away. It would have destroyed me, and, with my anger, I might have gone crazy and even harmed myself to “ease the pain.”
Instead, I knew what was coming. I was able to speak to my mom more, or at least be there with her, and to be one of the last people she saw before she died.
Phone calls were very hard, however, because the tumor made it hard for her to speak or hold a conversation. When my mom turned 60, I could not even call her to say “Happy Birthday.” In fact, I rarely even called at all because I couldn’t lie to my mom that she was OK, and I didn’t want to tell her she was dying and then five minutes later have her forget what I said.
Spending time with my mom at the end of her life was particularly important because growing up I had major anger issues and sometimes I was very mean to my mom. For that, I feel like the most ungrateful person on Earth. I rarely ever told her that I loved her, or even thanked her for the little things, such as giving me a roof over my head, food and clothes. Sure, most kids wouldn’t be that thoughtful, either, but, still, I often demanded things instead of asking politely.
On Monday, Sept. 12, 2011, at around 10:30 p.m., my mother passed away.
This is probably the hardest thing for a teenager to go through, especially since I’m a senior and trying to make the transition to college.
On top of all this, my dad is getting irritated at me because I can’t focus like he wants me to, and I don’t really talk about it like he wants me to, which I think is unfair.
On the bright side, my aunt who lives in Davis said I can come over when I want to get away from all this and “chillax” with my cousin. We could go paintballing, play video games or just swim in their pool.
I appreciate this kindness. It makes me feel better about my situation.
I think I’ll make it through the year.
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