I am a motherless daughter. Seventeen years ago in a quiet Tampa hospital room at 2:37 a.m., I lost my mother to breast cancer. She was with me when I took my first breath, and I was with her when she took her last.
Psychiatrist Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, author of “On Death and Dying,” created the Kübler-Ross model, a theory based on the five stages of grief. Although I read the book to help me understand my mother, I later reread it to help me understand myself.
First stage: denial.
Because I lived 3,000 miles away, my mother didn’t want me to worry, so she didn’t tell me how serious her disease had become. She had pulled through before, so why would this be any different? But when a childhood friend called me and told me the truth, I went home.
It wasn’t until I saw my mom in the hospital—frail, vulnerable, scared—that I knew. I tried to stay present, but it was hard. I just couldn’t believe this was happening.
Second stage: bargaining.
While she was in the hospital, I had a lot of thoughts. Why her? Why not me? I tried to reason, but things didn’t make sense. She was a kind and loving person. Why did this have to happen to her? And why did it have to happen to me?
Third stage: depression.
I entered a long period of grief during the year after she died. I had finally moved back home, only for her to be gone. A chasm of sadness filled up my heart until it overflowed again and again. During that dark time, I sought answers. I read books such as “The Tibetan Book of the Dead” and “Siddhartha.” I went to church and prayed a lot. I meditated. I sought therapy and attended “Motherless Daughters” support groups. I realized I was not the only one who had experienced loss on such a deep level and found comfort there. I slowly began to realize life goes on.
Fourth stage: anger.
As things returned to normal, anger hit me like a lightning bolt, and with it came guilt. I didn’t want to be mad at my mother for dying, but I was. How could she do that to us? I felt angry that she didn’t tell me sooner and that I had so little time left with her. But over time, I made peace with my anger.
Fifth stage: acceptance.
As the years whirl by like a dizzying merry-go-round, I realize how truly young my mother was when she died—she was only 54.
I realize that life is a blessing, and to be grateful for the moments we have. Every day is another chance to tell someone you love them, make their lives easier and do the right thing.
Throughout the pain of losing my mother, I keep the memories of her alive. I remember the love she gave and the life she lived.
