An Inerasable Memory: The Death of a Mother

“Grief is a curious thing, when it happens unexpectedly. It is a band-aid being ripped away, taking the top layer off a family. And the underbelly of a household is never pretty, ours no exception.”

Jodi Picoult

With Mother’s Day around the corner, thoughts of my mother become more frequent. Only about four percent of children experience the loss of a parent before they are 18 years of age. This loss can be one of the most traumatic events a child can endure. Both of my parents died when I was a young girl, giving me insight into how memorable this occurrence actually is. Because I was too young to remember much of my father or his death, the passing of my mother is my most memorable experience. I’m willing to be personal here because I’m hoping my content can bring a sense of connectedness to someone who has gone through something similar. The revelation of her demise, how she died, and her funeral were all extremely impactful during this time of my life.

My grandmother planned a special birthday party for me and my older sister at her house. The party included everything from inflatable houses to cotton candy machines, but one thing was missing: my mother. I questioned my grandmother several times about where my mom was, but she replied with the same response each time, “Just go play, Destiny.” The third time she said this, a strange feeling grew in the pit of my stomach.

After the guests of the party left the house, I walked into the kitchen where I found my grandparents looking at each other intensely. My older sister, Brittany, was seated at the kitchen table. “We need to talk to you about something.” My grandfather said, as he held onto the countertop for support. I had never seen him appear so weak. As soon as I sat down, my grandmother said the four words I will never forget, “Your mom passed away…” My head filled with thoughts, but I did not know how to react. I looked at my sister helplessly; there were tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Suddenly, I felt as if a large knot was forming in my throat, but I could not cry. I felt immense sadness, but my body would not let me express it. The rest of the day was a blur. The only thing I do recall is feeling numbness, which only worsened when I realized how she perished.

Before anyone told me how she passed, I had an idea. My mother was a drug addict. She used several drugs, but preferred stronger substances like heroin and cocaine. Even though I was only eight, I was aware that there was a problem. The death certificate states the reason for her death was a drug overdose. There were toxic levels of morphine and cocaine in her system. Even with this information, her death still did not feel definite to me. My grandmother explained that my mom was found deceased in a friend’s home. That “friend” was called Joe. He was more of a drug supplier for my mother than anything else. She brought me to his house several times, all of which were unpleasant. There were always very odd people at Joe’s house, which I know now, were just extremely high. I was angered to know she spent her final hours in such a dreadful place.

The most memorable part of this experience was attending my mother’s funeral. I remember it in great detail. I viewed her body at a local funeral chapel before she was cremated. My grandparents, uncle, two sisters, and I were the only people who attended the viewing. None of us spoke on the way to the chapel. There was an ache in my stomach the entire trip; I held my abdomen as the six of us remained silent. The chapel was placed on a hill. There was a long staircase that led to the front doors of the building; I felt as if I had been walking for hours. When we entered, my grandparents spoke to the funeral director while I scanned the area. The décor looked dated and the color scheme of maroon and brown felt slightly gloomy. I noticed a number of tissue boxes placed around the chapel, six to be exact. As a child, I remember finding it ironic that there were just enough tissue boxes for each of us. After a short time, we were led to a room with a cherry wood coffin in the center. The funeral director slowly opened the casket and left the room.

The moment I saw my mother inside, everything else seemed to disappear. Her body was covered with a white satin sheet, but her head and shoulders were visible. Her face was coated with makeup to conceal the reality of what was underneath it. She almost looked like she was sleeping, and I wished that I could wake her up. I took a step towards the coffin and placed my hand on her cheek. Her skin was stiff and incredibly frigid. After I touched my mother’s lifeless body, the actuality of her death struck me. For the first time since my mother perished, I cried.

The death of a parent is an experience that can linger in the minds of an individual their entire life. My mother’s death is an event I will never be able to forget. The day I heard the news of her death, the way she died, and her funeral were all parts of the experience that impacted me the most. Hopefully, my memories can give someone with the similar circumstances something to which they can relate. For everyone else, hug your mother tight and let her know how much she means to you this Mother’s Day!

“And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.”

Maya Angelou