If My Mom We’re Still Here, I’d Want Her To Know I’m Okay

I shaved my head the night before my mom died. It was meant to be an act of solidarity. The next day she would start chemo. But instead of starting treatment, she started her next phase of life with a full head of hair. Sometimes we can do everything in our power to change a situation, and yet life still happens. I’ll be honest, I felt defeated when my mom died, and maybe as an act of punishment, and most certainly as a visible reminder of my mourning, I kept my head bald for an entire year after she passed.

We can’t always control what happens to our loved ones or ourselves, but we can choose to rise from our circumstances and begin anew.

The thing about cancer is that there’s no one to blame. My anger, sorrow, fears, and frustration had no place to go but within. I’m sure I let it out in nasty ways with the people around me, but the person I was most upset with was myself. To feel helpless is to feel hopeless. I would have traded spots with my mom in a heartbeat if I knew her suffering would stop. But the moment she took her last breath, I felt sorrow, like a vacuum, consuming the joy, happiness, and peace around me. The room was full of friends and family, yet all we could feel was the vacancy left by her passing.

At that moment, I resented being the one left behind. But over time, I discovered a groundedness in holding that grief for myself and others.

It’s good that some of us are left behind. Not just because we have our own stories to create or can keep memories alive, but because we can be a beacon of hope to those who have yet to suffer losses. We who have suffered heartbreak and have lived to tell about it are proof of our collective inner strength.

As much as we believe we cannot endure, we do. It can be hard to get back up, but get back up we do. The challenges we experience in life don’t have to remain heavy or oppressive. They can be the foundation on which we build our resilience, tenacity, and unwillingness to sit in the shadows of our sorrow or pain.

I was numb for a long time after my mom died. But eventually, life returned, and my hair grew back. I began to see my experience as a right of passage, a defining scar, evidence that I could heal. And when I was able to stand up straight again and notice the sun on my face, I got to work. I found my footing and sought out joy. I did my best to feel gratitude for the many positive things in my life and made it my mission to be a light for those still in the dark, most prominently my father and younger brother.

The truth is, despite inevitable setbacks we face in life, a certain kinship grows out of adversity. Because of all the joy we seek, we also know what it feels like to hurt, and in that place of our most profound vulnerability, our coming together sets us free.