That Day

My mother’s death was the first family death I had to deal with. Ever. Wednesday, November 22, 2000. The day before Thanksgiving. I was living in Virginia and my goal was to leave the area for my parents’ house before 9 or 10 AM. As I was about to turn into my parking lot where I lived . . . my phone rang. It was my father and brother. While turning left, that’s when I hear the news – my mother was gone. I don’t remember how I managed to park or even get up to my apartment. What I do remember is how numb and shocked I felt. Over the weekend, one of my cousins and I figured that she’d make it until the end of the year. I didn’t think she’d leave the day before Thanksgiving.

How did it happen? Apparently ever so peacefully. My father said he went to say good morning to my mother. Perhaps they had some conversation, perhaps not. But I do know she knew he was there. He then said he told her he was going downstairs to get breakfast for them and he’d be right back upstairs. They didn’t have breakfast together. She was gone before he got back upstairs. I like to think that she held on for one more chance to see my father.

For second time in my life – I was paralyzed. I didn’t know what to do. I knew that this would happen, but nothing had prepared me for this moment and how to handle it. I think I just started calling people. And I kept making phone calls and it didn’t even register with me that I was calling people during the workday and they wouldn’t be able to talk. And, of course, for the moments that I was able to talk coherently, if someone said he or she couldn’t talk, then I said ok and hung up without explaining the nature of my call. After some time passed, there was a knock at the door – it was one of my friends, Dwight. He brought me the hugest Starbucks frappaccino topped with whipped cream and just sat with me. I don’t recall if there was any conversation, I just know that someone was with me. I suspect had someone not been there, I probably would have gone out of my mind. Knowing me, I probably started trying to put clothes together to get ready to leave and to keep myself occupied. But, I honestly couldn’t tell you what happened that morning.

The drive to Philadelphia was excruciatingly long. All I could think about was the fact that I was going home, but to a single-parent home. All I could notice was the massive amount of cars on the road. Well, no kidding there are a lot of cars on the road because it is the day before Thanksgiving, after all. And it was at that moment where I suddenly felt lost, abandoned . . . alone. It seemed like an eternity to get to Philadelphia and each second was pure agony. How was I supposed to walk into that house? What was I supposed to say to my father? What was I supposed to do. Period.

Seriously, I couldn’t tell you what happened once I got home. It’s all truly a blur. The next significant thing I remember is going to the funeral home . . . and all I remember thinking is that I just wish my mother would wake up; even if it meant yelling at me for whatever reason. Just wake up, dammit. She didn’t. Obviously.

That was the day. And as I sit here and try to recall all the details – I just can’t. Maybe it’s a good thing . . . maybe it’s not. But I guess at this point, it’s irrelevant. The long and short of it is that she is and was my mother. And it doesn’t really matter if I remember the details of that fateful day. What I’ve come to learn with regard to what matters is how I move on, how I remember and honor her and what I choose to do with each day that is given to me.