The Day I Lost My Mother

I remember every detail of this day as if it happened yesterday. The memory of the day my world fell apart will forever be etched into my mind. Thoughts about what could have been circling my mind as I finally deal with the trauma I drowned with alcohol and drugs for years.

My mother had a long battle with brain cancer. It was three long years of surgeries, chemo, and sickness. She was unrecognizable when she finally managed to escape this world and find some relief. The surgeries and chemo had destroyed her physically and mentally. She did not know who people were, where she was, or what was happening. As a thirteen-year-old boy, this was absolutely heartbreaking. 

Two days stand out to me after all these years. The day I found out she had cancer and the day she died.

The day she was diagnosed started as an especially happy day. The Under Attack skateboard tour was in town, and my friend group was extremely excited. We started out at the local skatepark before catching a ride downtown for the show. It was everything I expected. Tons of free skateboard stuff, amazing skateboarding and some awesome live music. It was a wonderful day.

When I finally arrived home, my dad took me aside and said we need to talk. He brought up how my mom had been having trouble with her left hand for a couple of weeks. When he said he had some bad news, I immediately said it would be okay if it weren't brain cancer or something. At age eleven, I did not understand that the brain was responsible for controlling the hands, so any problem moving the hand could be a brain problem. Sure enough, Dad said it was brain cancer. It took a long while for the seriousness of the situation to sink in. 

The day she died was very similar and revolved around skateboarding as well. Every day revolved around skateboarding at that period of my life. I was once again at the same skatepark as three years ago, downtown, with some friends. I was on the bus home when my dad called. He didn't say much; he couldn't say much. He just said I needed to come home. I could hear the pain in his voice. I knew what had happened. I had been waiting for this day to come for three years. 

Once I got home and heard the news, I didn't know what to do. I was so lost, so back to the skatepark I went. I took skateboarding to the extreme that evening. All fear was gone, so I took as much risk as possible, doing many crazy things. This was the first time it clicked in my head that I could hurt myself physically to distract myself from emotional pain. This was the day a lot of my mental health problems began. 

I didn't cry for weeks after the funeral and only when I was alone in bed. All my aunts and people that were around every single day to care for my mother disappeared. My dad picked up his drinking. For a long time, I was afraid to go out with friends in the evenings for fear of the state I would find him in. I don't blame him. If I had known I could drink to numb my emotional pain back then I probably would have joined him. That destructive knowledge came later in life.

Therapy didn't exist in my family back then; my mother was the hands-on parent. Most of my family returned to their normal lives. My dad was in his sixties and never planned on raising a teenage boy alone. He was very old school, so talking about emotions was a no-no. 

So how is this affecting me today?

I feel like I never really grew up. Two decades of seeking instant gratification to numb my pain has stunted my emotional growth. Nobody told me this was a bad idea; nobody told me the effects this behaviour would have on me. I never learned any other way. 

This was also the most significant event in my childhood. I catastrophized for years about my mom dying, and it happened. My brain learned that catastrophizing is a useful tool. Now I can't deal with uncertainty at all. When faced with any uncertainty, I automatically assume the worst. I feel like I'm constantly putting out fires that don't exist. The only break I got from this was with alcohol, which is no longer an option. 

The longest relationship I ever had was about a year. My mother was the only person I was close to as a child, so I am completely uncomfortable with intimacy. After she died, I spent years alone in my room. Now I am uncomfortable around people in general. I spend most of my time alone with my dog.

So here I am. Finally sober and growing up at the tender age of thirty-two. Now in sobriety, I can finally address all these issues and deal with the trauma I suppressed for so long. It's not easy, and it is very painful. 

On a positive note, my relationship with my father is stronger than I could have hoped for. He has researched mental health and addiction, attempting to understand how I am suffering. He is my biggest support in recovery. He actually told me he loves me, which was a big deal for him.

So what's the lesson here?

Deal with your trauma. Don't bury it, don't numb it, don't try to escape it. There are no shortcuts to escape the pain. Well, at least none that aren't temporary and will make things much harder. Anything that has caused you significant emotional pain will most likely need to be dealt with. I currently use therapy, writing and support groups to deal with my trauma. 

Although confronting my trauma head-on is painful, it is worth it. For once, I am hopeful for the future. I hope to create a life for myself that my mother would be proud of. I want to become the person I needed when I was younger.