-Axton N.O. Mitchell
“I write to her now. When crying isn’t enough, the page catches the rest.”
My Mom Was Still Young!
She was only fifty. We thought she’d get a liver. We thought we had more time. We thought she wasn’t that sick, until she was. We thought it was a routine hospital visit. It was just like every Wednesday to get the fluid drained from her liver. But it wasn’t. When she came home, she wasn’t with her body anymore. She was unable to communicate. She was brought home to be loved until the end. Of course, this was so her fur baby could mourn as well. A measly 8 days before I turned 30 and 2 months before her twin girls were legal adults.
When my mom passed away, time changed for me. It stopped being infinite. It stopped waiting. Her death made it real, this life has an end, and it can come without warning. That knowing hit me harder than any grief did at first. Now, I no longer let myself believe there’s always tomorrow. I do things now. I say what I need to say. I write when I need to feel. I love the people I have while I have them.
I’ve Changed
I’m different since she died. More grounded. More sober, not just in body, but in how I walk through the world. I keep to a “Cali sober” life. More importantly, I’ve become someone who doesn’t hide in fog anymore. Someone who feels every edge and texture of life. Because I know what it costs not to.
I do way more.
I write for her now. I write to her. When I can’t cry enough, the page catches the rest. When I want to talk to her, I do it through poems and letters I’ll never send. Her death didn’t stop my conversations with her. It just changed where I send the words.
I GUESS…!
I’m the “adultier” adult now. The one my sisters look to. That makes me proud, and it makes me ache. I want to be strong for them, but some days I just want to be held too. I worry I’ll never be able to give them enough. I worry I’ll run out of time with them too.
There are places I go now that I never would have before, bucket list places, things she dreamed of. I take her ashes with me. In every beautiful place I visit, I leave a part of her behind. I also take a part of her with me. It’s how I keep her moving forward with me. It’s how I make peace with what we didn’t get. I go where we spoke of going in whispers and giggle fits late at night. I remained cuddled into her bed even as a grown-up, her child.
A Man Rewritten.
Her death rewrote me. Not into someone shattered, but someone who finally understood the fragility of everything. And instead of breaking, I’ve been building something out of that understanding. A life I want to live fully. A love I want to show loudly. A grief I want to honor honestly.
Because I didn’t get enough time with her.
So now, I make sure nothing I love is left unwritten.
I miss her more than I thought possible, and still then some. I am not broken, but I do break for her often. The tears crash down around me with enough force. Sometimes, I fear what I have built will not survive the oceans I cry, for only her. I would give everything including the rest of my life for just one more day with her. I don’t think anyone is ever ready to lose their mother. My mom was my everything for more years of my life than she wasn’t. This isn’t a pain that gets easier. It is one you simply learn to carry. Otherwise, you risk never growing. My mom wouldn’t be proud of that, so…. I walk on.
