The kid whose mom died
I was never prepped to be “the kid whose mom died.” It was a title I never asked for, yet at the age of of 16 it was exactly who I became. A lot changes when you become “the kid whose mom died.”
For starters, you don’t have a mom. That fucking sucks. You get to spend every holiday, birthday, life event etc for the rest of your life without a mom. You get to see your dad cry for the first time in your life too, that fucking sucks. You get to watch your sister struggle to get out of bed because her and mom were super close and she too is “the kid whose mom died.”
Everyone feels bad for you, you don’t want them to, but they do. They all know your mom has died, and none of them know how to handle the discomfort this causes them. You are now a reminder of the finite nature of being human. If your mom can die, so can theirs.
They want to make you feel better, but they can’t understand. Only people who have suffered great losses can understand. Unfortunately, all of us understand at some point in our lives, some of us just understand sooner than others. People die. Moms die. It’s not some vague, distant concept, it’s real as fuck, and it fucking hurts. Death is real.
But something else is real too. It’s something I couldn’t see when I was newly dubbed “the kids whose mom died.” This something is the fact, that life goes on.
You see, just as life ends with an exhale, life begins with an inhale. This is to say, that life is just as real as death. My mom may have stopped breathing, but I most certainly did not, and thank fuck, because I still had(have) a lot of life to live. Life is precious, and it’s precious precisely because it ends. Life needs death. That’s where life gets its meaning and value, this is where love comes from.
My mom’s death taught me more about life than I possibly could have imagined. I learned to value my time, to love people deeply, and to follow my dreams. I learned that even when we’re at our lowest, there is always hope. Life moves forward, the sun always shines again. “The kid whose mom died” can have happy days again.
Now as I approach the 20th anniversary of becoming “the kid whose mom died,” I see things differently. I work to let the anger go. I work to love myself and others. I ask my mom for help. I might always be “the kids whose mom died,” but I can also be many other things. I can be “the kid whose mom loved him.” I can be “the father who loves his kids.”
If you’re looking for a little peace & quiet, I have a new Yoga for Punks course launching in January. It’s 31 days of 10 minute classes for $31. Classes are prerecorded so you can do them at your own pace. Check that shit out