In order to give advice, i believe that i first need to be more transparent about my experience. so sit back, relax, and let me tell you my story.
How My Mother Died
It all started back on May 14th, 2014, exactly a month before my 7th birthday. Usually, my mom picked me up from school, but that day she was running late, so my dad did and took me to his office. I waited there for my mom to pick me up.
I loved my dad’s office. Not only did I get to spend time with him, but he also always printed pictures of princesses for me to color. Nothing was on my mind but the picture of Cinderella in front of me. I didn’t even want to leave, so I prayed that my mom wouldn’t come anytime soon.
Suddenly, my dad got a phone call. He screamed, jumped from his desk, and left the office without answering my or my sister’s questions.
Thankfully, my cousin worked for my dad’s company, so he took us home. We still had no idea what was going on, and when we got home to find my aunts crying in the living room, I remember laughing at them. But I was just six, so I guess it’s fine.
Another cousin picked us up and took us to her house, where we stayed for a while. Each day, my dad visited with a new update.
The first night, he told us she was very, very tired. I believed him, but deep down I had a feeling she was already gone.
The second night, he said she wasn’t waking up. I started bracing myself for the news, but I still tried to have hope.
The third night, my dad didn’t say anything. He just looked at us with tears in his eyes. My sister, who was four, asked with a smile, “Where is mom?” My dad mirrored her smile and said, “She went to the sky.” “When is she coming back?” my sister asked. “She isn’t,” I replied. I was tired and frustrated that she didn’t understand. She was making it harder for my dad.
I didn’t cry. I don’t know why, but I didn’t. I’m usually a big crier and get hurt easily, but I couldn’t. In fact, in the last 10 years, I’ve only cried three times over my mom.
The first was when I saw my dad crying in his room. In my head, he was a superhero, and seeing him cry meant that something was really, really wrong.
The second was a few weeks later when my dad decided to put me in therapy. The moment the therapist asked me, “How are you?” I couldn’t hold it in.
The third time I cried was much later. I realized that I hadn’t thought about my mom in a while. I hadn’t fully processed her death; I didn’t allow myself to. I hated myself for that. I hated that, in my brain, I never had a mom. I’d always been alone. I hadn’t lost her; I never had her. So I decided to force myself to face my feelings, and that day, I cried a lot.
Thank you for reading my story. If you found this post helpful, please share it with others who might benefit from it. Feel free to leave a comment below or reach out to me if you need someone to talk to. Stay tuned for more posts where I’ll be sharing more of my journey and tips for navigating life without a mom.
With love, Luna 😊
Little Miss Guide 
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