Let's get real. How I lost my mother is a touchy subject. I don’t like to pity myself in front of other people, because someone always has it worse. I don’t keep it a secret that I don’t have a mother, I just never went into more detail when I would see people’s faces of shock. Bear in mind, my bluntness doesn’t help when explaining this, but I’m giving it my best shot.

Five years ago this November, I lost my mom to breast cancer. Known to most, breast cancer is aggressive and affects many strong women and men each year.

My mother and I were the epitome of two peas in a pod. I was an only child to a mother that was told her chances of ever having kids were next to slim, so to say my mother loved me to the moon and back was an understatement. She put me on a pedestal in whatever I did.

My freshman year of high school was both invigorating and tiring. My mother had health problems swing from the sky, and no one knew why. Between the football games and the driver’s education, there were doctor’s appointments, fractured bones and scary conversations. When you're 14 years old, you don’t think, “Hey, I’m not sure if my mom is dying, but I do know that guy over there is staring at me.” A teenager reaching for the American dream.

Let’s get another thing straight. I don’t regret things in life. That’s just a bad habit to have. I don’t regret not spending one more second or going to see one more movie with her. I just learn to cherish the good memories.

Flash forward to the summer before my sophomore year, no longer the little fish in the big sea. My mother was wheelchair bound with no diagnosis, but lots of tongue-tied doctors. By this time, my father and I had made my mother her own personal space. She had a queen-sized bed right in the living room. Because of her immobility, she wanted to be close to everyone, and being trapped in the back bedroom just didn’t seem right. Her wheelchair was at the side of the bed, and my bed was the living room couch. On my 15th birthday in August, Mom, Dad and I were sitting in the living room looking at the new iPad Dad bought me (without Mom’s permission) when Mom got a call.

She had advanced Stage IV breast cancer, which had metastasized to her liver, wrapped around her spinal cord and was in the process of crushing it. She went into at-home hospice care immediately. The funny thing is, I had no idea what that meant. All that processed was “breast cancer,” and I thought, “We live not even 30 minutes from MD Anderson. They'll have a cure, for sure.”

After that phone call, I was no longer allowed to go to doctor’s appointments, it was too much negative news and my parents were only trying to protect me. The prognosis basically came down to if Mom made it to Christmas, that would be a miracle. About five months.

It’s unfortunate she didn’t even make it five months.

To have someone go from fun living to dying is weird. It’s a strange and deafening experience, and I hope no one ever has to experience it. Family came in from hours away, friends from small places and letters from neighbors. Those last few months were horrible. Everyone acted so cheerful and were presenting her with lavish gifts, and I just didn’t understand it. They were only trying to make her comfortable in her final moments, but I don’t think I wanted to come to terms with that.

Thanksgiving break, sophomore year of high school, I left school with a big smile on my face, looking forward to the week off. That was the last week I spent on this earth with my mother. The day after Thanksgiving, we had a “family Christmas,” because it was apparent at that time, she wasn't going to make it until December. My mother passed away peacefully, surrounded by her family with Christmas music playing in the background and a house full of Christmas gifts. I only shed a few tears while this happened.

I went back to school on Monday without even a change of expression on my face. I didn’t want to talk about it; I didn’t want anyone to talk to me. While my biology teacher pulled me away from the class to discuss the plans for re-taking a test while I was away for her funeral, a girl came up to me. She expressed to me the only reason I had even told the teacher about my mom's passing was to gain attention. It was from that moment on I decided I wouldn't talk about her again.

It's a shame other people can make someone feel that way.

I can no longer go through a Thanksgiving happily. I can no longer look someone in the face when they ask what I am doing for Mother’s Day. I can’t have the experience of wedding dress shopping with my mom. But that's OK.

I don't question why the Lord took my mother from me. It’s not my right to question Him. He wouldn't have put me in that situation if I couldn't have handled it. The way I think about it is that my mom was needed in Heaven, so I'll meet her up there one day. Until then, I'll survive.

That’s a pinky promise, Mom.