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The anniversary of my moms suicide is fast approaching. Sometimes, the pain feels as raw now as it did three years ago. It’s hard to comprehend that it’s been that long.
I’ll never forget the moment I found out as I glanced at my constant buzzing phone while I was right in the middle of a zoom parent teacher conference with my younger daughter’s teacher and saw the message.
I’m not completely sure what happened after that….. I somehow managed to push through the next and last 10 minutes of my daughter’s parent teacher conference convincingly enough although at that point I was mostly just in shock and mentally checked out.
My entire household also happened to be down with COVID (hence the zoom conference) and legally ordered by our local officials to not leave our house under any circumstances.
The memories of her final days haunted me relentlessly as I traced every single last move she made for weeks leading up to that day - even though we spoke every single day. The pain she endured, the suffering she kept hidden - or masked- from the outside world behind her selflessness were thoughts I could not escape unless I was asleep - and even then, she’d appear in my dreams. All I have now are memories and the little comfort that her suffering has at least, finally ceased. RIP Mama.
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