Losing my mom, three years later

Today marks three years since my mom died of cancer. Each year since, I’ve written a post to gather my thoughts and also give a sort-of state-of-the-union for my life. I’d say I don’t write these for an audience, but I’d be lying.

There is a tendency on the internet and social media to over-share personal details, but I find these posts to be therapeutic, especially knowing that someone might be reading. So if you’re here, thanks :)

From wounds to scars

This time around, I’ve found that the pain of losing my mom to be a lot less intense. The heartache of losing her is starting to give way to simply missing her. While I’ve still had many crying episodes this year, they’ve mainly stemmed from the feeling of “mom would’ve loved this!”

I recently went through my phone’s text conversations and found a group chat between my family. One of the text messages read:

From: my dad on July 20, 2021, at 19:20

“Come now please. There’s a 4 second gap on her breathing.”

Twenty-five minutes later, my mom would breathe her last breath. I got to Princess Margaret Hospital fifteen minutes after that. I still remember nervously walking out of the elevator amidst a chorus of condolences from the nurses in palliative care. I still remember seeing the door to my mom’s room open, but the curtain drawn around her bed.

Then I remember seeing my mom’s body. Still, pale and devoid of … life.

One thing that lingers with me is how cold her body felt. She died fifteen minutes before I arrived; If I told my Uber driver to speed up, could I have been there while she was still warm? What difference would that make?

So while the wounds of these memories have become scars, I very much remember the pain they once carried.

Leaving the nest

The biggest life change since writing last year’s post is that I moved out of home!

I’ve been very vocal about wanting to live on my own for many years. It wasn’t a case of familial beef or anything; home just kept getting smaller and smaller, especially with my little cousins becoming not-so-little anymore.

I’ll spare you the details of my finding a decent apartment in Toronto, but I can happily say that I found a place that was relatively well-priced and offered everything I needed.

It’s been about two months since I’ve began living on my own and I must say: it is awesome. Going from a household of seven to living by myself has been both jarring and refreshing. The first few weeks were filled with many trips to Ikea, garage sales, offers on Facebook Marketplace, and tears! It was really strange to feel homesick while also being at home.

I’ve been walking so much, exploring the new ends. I’ve never been so close to the subway in my life; it’s so convenient! It also made me sad about how Scarborough is always getting the short end of the stick when it comes to accessible transit (at least six more years of shuttle busses from Kennedy station, what the hell?!).

I wish …

As I mentioned at the beginning, a lot of the pain of missing my mom has been replaced with “I wish she could see this!”

I wish so bad that I could meet my mom at the nearby station and we could walk to my apartment to hang out. I could cook her a meal and we chitchat about whatever. I wish on weekends I could take her to the cute diners nearby and she could bug me about getting married or whatever moms do when their children become adults and move out.

I wish that I could visit her at work and we could grab lunch to catch up. I wish we could go shopping on her break. I wish I could take her to the movies. I wish we could go see a musical again. I wish I could surprise her when I show up back home, maybe I could even help with the garden. I wish I could take her to New York in September to watch the U.S. Open - something she had asked me 5 years ago, but I turned down.

I wish so bad that I could usher in this new chapter of my life with my mom. I know she would have put up a fight to stop me from moving out (she always balked at the idea) - but I wish I didn’t have to imagine it.

What now?

I am incredibly upset to not have my mom around. It is so very painful to recall that rainy, July evening when I felt my mom’s cold, lifeless body laying on the hospital bed. But, like I wrote earlier: the wounds have become scars.

Nadia was a good mom. She was never unfair or hurtful to me or my brother. While she was the strict parent, she pushed my dad to spend on family trips growing up. I feel so blessed to have the upbringing I did. If you’re reading this and you know me personally - I hope it’s not outlandish to say she raised a well-adjusted— heck, even friendly— son (sweats nervously).

I’ve bore witness to way-too-many deaths since losing my mom. I’ve lost friends, classmates, relatives (most recently, my Lola aka my mom’s mom) and it’s all made me a lot more tender. Life has slowed down (aside from moving) and I’ve learned to stop chasing things so damn much.

Yes, I still have my ambitions- but life is so much more than furthering my own goals. I suppose it’s the sacrifices of my parents that have afforded me this mindset.

And I now I’m living on my own - hopefully to continue down the path of success my mom worked so tirelessly to set up.

I don’t know where life will take me, but I always carry her spirit with me wherever I go.

I love you, mom <3