Content warning: Gun violence
One year ago, on March 5, 2019, I lost my mom to gun violence. There were so many days I wanted to sit at my computer and write everything down that I was feeling, but every time I tried, I got lost. I couldn't find the words. Honestly, it took me 10 minutes to write the first two sentences of this article.
I am not sure why I decided to make my story as public as possible, but part of me feels as if I owe it to myself to tell the world how I am coping with this loss. And maybe — just maybe — my story can help someone else, too.
On March 5, I was sitting in my class at Salisbury University, just like I did every Tuesday. I remember exactly what I was wearing — a green New Hampshire hoodie, a jean jacket, black leggings, and small slip-on shoes. Only five minutes into my second class, at 7:05 p.m., I got a phone call from my brother's dad. I ignored it because I was in class. Then I get three text messages.
"CALL ME NOW"
"EMERGENCY"
"NOW"
At this point, I was convinced something had happened to my brother or he was in some sort of trouble. It wasn't until I left the class and called my brother's dad that I realized my absolute worst nightmare has come true. He said to me, "I don't know exactly what happened, but your mom is hurt. You need to leave school now."
I have never driven so fast or dangerously in my life.
I called just about everyone I could call. On the last phone call when I was on I-95, I finally heard the words, "Your mom was shot. She didn't make it." The person I was talking to just kept saying, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," but all I did was scream in their ear, "What did he do? What did he do?"
Those screams will play in my head forever.
When I got home, all hell broke loose. I was calling every police barrack in Baltimore to get someone to tell me what happened. I called my mom and screamed voicemails into her phone, begging her to return my call. I threw up four times. I lay on the floor, screamed and cried as loud as I could, and kicked my walls. This was the first time I ever truly yelled at God, even though I knew I didn't mean it.
From there came the funeral, the candlelight vigil, the lawyer meetings, and then the trial.
From there came the feelings of guilt, hopelessness, anger, and desperation.
Twelve months have come and gone, and over that time, I have learned some significant lessons that will carry me into every phase of my life.
1. Even when it's the worst time of your life, never lose sight of God.
That was my biggest promise to myself after all of this happened — my relationship with God would not change, even when I didn't understand. I stayed steady with prayer, I did my best to go to church, and it took a lot not to question why something like this would happen to my family. I leaned on a lot of people for prayer to get through (friends, family, the prayer team at church), but I realized I wasn't depending on myself to talk to God. I am doing better now, but like all Christians, I have a lot of work to do.
2. Not everyone is going to know what to say, that's ok.
I can't tell you how many times I got a text starting with, "I don't know what to say." And I'm here to tell you, for anyone that is grieving, that is OK. Sometimes it's better just to hug it out, sit and listen, or pray from afar and wait until you feel like you can say the right thing. And even then, you still might not say the right thing, but there is no right thing to say. I won't sit here and say I wasn't thankful for those who reached out and said kind things, but it's exhausting, even to this day, hearing things like "it will get better" or "she's in a better place."
Sometimes, it's better to say nothing at all.
3. "Let me know if you need anything" doesn't always mean let me know if you need anything.
I had a lot of people in my life who disappeared once the funeral was over. They only came back around when the trial was coming up. I actually had family members who have not spoken to me in years ask me to be in the courtroom. I had people who I thought were friends completely uproot our friendship after saying things like, "let me know if you need anything."
Some people only talked to me when they wanted to know the morbid details.
I got 36 friend requests on Facebook after my mom passed — maybe two of them said anything. Not that I am looking for attention, but they wanted details of what happened. I got a lot of questions like, "Who told you?" "Where did it happen?" "How did it happen?" at the most inappropriate times.
It hurt, and people still do this to me.
If you feel like I am talking about you, I probably am. Learn from this and don't do it to anyone else. A lot of the time, when I truly needed something or someone, the people asked those questions but followed up "let me know if you need anything" were gone. I am lucky to have an amazing support system who has helped me through this time.
4. Lean on those who lift you up.
I feel like this is pretty self-explanatory, but it's an important tip when you're experiencing grief and trauma. I have a significant group of people who have been supportive before this happened, during, and anything that followed after.
My husband has loved me 100 percent through all of this, been my rock, my confidant, and my snuggle buddy on hard days. My in-laws had my back ever since I stepped foot into their family. My siblings are my best friends — this was our worst nightmare, but getting through this together has made us stronger than ever. My grandparents are always there to lend an ear when I need one (and feed my belly when I don't feel like cooking). My cousin lets me drink her chocolate milk, vent, cry, laugh, and enjoys my company every "Grey's Anatomy" Thursday.
A camp group has supplied my life with the best kinds of people. I have friends who all help in different kinds of ways. A friend from 800 miles away, but prays for me hard even when she has her own stuff and is always a phone call away. A friend who takes me to do my favorite things and knows when it's time to talk and it's time to be quiet and enjoy. A friend I can laugh with and helps me to forget anything bad that may be happening. A friend who calls once a week just to talk and check on me. There are more and I am so grateful for all of them in individual ways.
Blessed is an understatement.
I miss my mom more every single day that passes. I miss her during holidays — Mother's Day, her birthday, and mine. There are days when it's so hard, it feels as if I can't move or do anything. That's what grief is. Unfortunately, in life, loss is inevitable. My mom was so young, but God had other plans.
This loss has tested me in so many ways, between my faith, my hope, my feelings, and my patience.
I have come to know that life really is so short. Hug your family members, friends, anyone and tell them how much they mean to you. You may think that they know, but sometimes they don't. Take a moment, call them up, schedule lunch. Visit them before it's too late. Because let me tell you, the little less important things in life don't matter.
For anonymous, confidential help, 24/7, please call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE).
