I was somewhere over the Midwest, thirty thousand feet in the air, when my mother died.
When the plane landed, I had no idea. I rushed through to the exits, where sure enough, a man with a card holding my name was waiting for me.
He took my bags while I scrambled to get my phone, texting Alex to ask how my mom was.
“Just get here quickly,” was the reply. That didn’t sound good.
The whole time in the car on the way to the hospital I felt like I was going to puke. I wanted to yell at the driver to go faster, insist that he run all the red lights, that he do everything in his power to get me to the hospital as soon as possible.
Running through the emergency room doors, I darted over to where Alex was standing. His face was as stoic as always, but the color that had always filled it was gone. He was ashen and still.
“Alex! What happened?” I asked.
He took me by the shoulders and sat me down in one of the plain chairs lining the walls of the waiting room.
“Michaela. I’m so sorry to have to be the one to tell you. Your mother passed away a couple hours ago.”
Once again, I heard the words, but they didn’t process. My brain refused to process them.
“What? Where’s my mom?” I asked in reply.
“I’m so sorry Michaela,” he continued, his voice cracking as he said my name. “Your mom died.”
My heart felt like it was going to come bursting out of my throat. My legs felt weak. I thought I was going to puke.
My mom was dead?
I put my head between my knees as my brain tried to process what I’d just heard. Alex sat down on the chair next to me and gently put a hand on my back, trying to comfort me.
“I’m so sorry, Michaela. I’m so sorry.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks and dripped onto the floor as I began to sob. My mom was gone. This wasn’t some weird practical joke, some terrible dream. This was real. My mom was really gone.
“Mommmm,” I cried, not caring about the other people in the waiting room who were surely staring at me. The pain was unbearable. I felt like dying. At least then I’d get to be with her again.
“This can’t be happening,” I told Alex. “Can I see her?”
He shook his head. “I don’t recommend it.”
I put my face in my hands and collapsed against the wall, moaning.
How was this happening? How was this real life?
My mom.
I loved her.
Had I told her that enough? Of course I hadn’t.
I hadn’t called enough, either. We spoke once every month or so when I was away. I should have called every week.
I collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. I hadn’t told her I loved her enough. I hadn’t let her in. I had wanted to be a big girl, I wanted to be my own woman, I knew what I was doing. I didn’t want my mom to give me her advice, I wanted to figure it all out on my own.
And now there was nothing I regretted more.
I didn’t resist as Alex slowly helped me up and took me back to his car.
I barely noticed that he looked like he was going to cry.
She was his wife, but she was my mom.
My mom.
Now she was never going to walk me down the aisle.
She was never going to see me graduate, see me get a good job.
She was never going to tell me what to do when I was pregnant.
She was never going to get to meet her grandbabies.
She was never going to see any of my life from now on.
I wasn’t going to be able to share it with her.
And the thought hurt so much my chest literally felt like it was being ripped apart.
I didn’t know where we were going. I didn’t care. I just wanted to see my mom again.
I wanted to hold her tight, I wanted to tell her I loved her, I wanted to tell her I was sorry for not always being the best daughter. I was sorry that I didn’t always return her calls. I was sorry that I pushed away from her when I was trying to find myself. I was sorry for everything.
I love you, mom.
* * *
The next few days went by like a blur.
A slow blur that involved me staying in bed and crying most of the day, desperate for more sleep to take me away from the grief that came with being awake.
Five days after my mom died was her funeral.
Alex had come in and told me. I hadn’t packed anything black. Why would I? My mom was supposed to be fine. She was going to be fine. I had told myself she’d be fine.
I still didn’t know exactly what happened.
I couldn’t stand to know the details. I didn’t want it to feel any more real. I didn’t think I could handle more pain than this.
Eventually I went to the mall to buy a dress. I needed to wear black. I had to get myself together. For my mom’s sake. She wouldn’t want me to be crying, she wouldn’t want me to be sad. I knew that. But I couldn’t help it. The pain was just too much. But looking presentable at her funeral was the least I could do.
I did all the shopping as quickly as I could get away with. Black dress, black shoes. I already had a black clutch purse. I had to force myself to care what the dress looked like. It could have been a garbage bag for all I really cared. No, that wasn’t true. I wanted to look good for my mom.
I needed to look good for my mom.
Little did I know grief was going to be the least of my worries.