My Firecracker

She was a firecracker.

A compassionate, intelligent, and driven woman, my mom was nothing short of unstoppable. Her whole life was a series of achievements, hard work, caring for others, and leaving a beautiful, unmistakable glow wherever she went. Everyone knew her, and everyone loved her. Everyone called her a friend, and many saw her as part of their family.

And then of course, my mom made two friends that turned out to be her worst enemies: depression and anxiety.

The darkness overcame her. The emptiness consumed her. She saw no way out, even though she was trying to get help. Seeing a therapist, taking the medications she’d been taking for 15 years after her first depressive episode–except now they weren’t helping. So her doctor made changes, to no avail. Sent her to other specialists for a second, third, fourth opinion–to no avail. Dosages changing, medications changing, but no change in how she felt. Finally, the “crazy thoughts,” as my mom described them, set in. So, hospitalization was the only option.

The hospital was a tough step for my mom to accept. Being hospitalized for something she couldn’t control and that wasn’t a physical illness was near impossible for my mom to cope with–but she went, because she knew she wasn’t safe and needed far more help than she was getting. And after a week of getting her out of bed, feeding her, dressing her, and forcing her to go outside, I decided enough was enough. It was time I got my Mommy back.

And we, my family and I, did everything we could to get her back. Hours and hours of conversations. Reassuring her. Encouraging her. Reminding her that she is loved and supported. But with each passing day, no matter how much reassurance, encouragement, and love we showered on her, the darkness surrounding her became more and more impenetrable. 

And on one Friday morning in August, it was all over. I woke up, realized she was gone, called the police, and a few hours later I was given the worst news I’ll ever hear. The last few sparks of that firecracker I called Mommy finally burned out.

Two months, one week, and six days ago, at 11:20 am, my mother took her life.

At first, all I could think was “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. What am I going to do? I don’t have parents anymore. Oh my god. What am I going to do? My mommy is gone.” The thoughts circled endlessly in my head like a toy train on its tracks. I accepted the embrace of loved ones, I listened as best I could to all the people and voices and words coming at me, but I don’t think I heard a thing. 

And as the hours turned into days, and the days into weeks, and then suddenly a whole month, and then two, had gone by–I went through changes. Waves of emotion. Moments of clarity, moments of chaos. Laughter, tears, reminiscing on memories, hearing her voice, remembering the smell of her hair and that luminous smile.

There have been moments that I’ve felt so overwhelmed, there seemed to be no way I could get through it all. There have been moments that I just want to stay in bed. There have been moments that I want to scream, “WHY??? WHY DID THIS HAPPEN? WHY MY MOM? WHY ME?”

And then there are moments that I smile. There are moments that I take a deep breath and feel a little better. There are afternoons when I decide that I need time for myself, and I take it. There are moments when I laugh. There are moments when I’m not plagued by thoughts. There are moments when I’m free.

And I’m here to tell you that–if you’re going through what I’m going through, or something similar–those happy moments do come back. Day by day, little by little, with patience, honesty, and full commitment to self-care, you will regain the strength to power through the day. When you treat each small accomplishment throughout the day as a great victory, you will realize that you are capable of far more than you give yourself credit for. You can overcome the pain. You are a firecracker and you will get your sparks back.

My mom is gone, but her love and light is with me forever. From here on out, everything I do in my life will be in her honor, to make her proud. Most importantly, I will do everything possible to care for myself. If something feels wrong, I will do everything in my power to rectify it.

I pledge to protect myself, and to help protect others who have felt the pain that I’ve felt and still feel. There is light in the darkness, and all it takes is a genuine belief in the importance of you. 

Take care and stay strong, firecracker.