20 years

My mom died by suicide a couple of weeks before Google launched. The iMac came out the same month she died, and the first Harry Potter book was released that same year. That means my mother never Googled anything, she never saw a MacBook (couldn’t have dreamed of an iPad), and died not knowing who Voldemort was or if he won. 

It was 20 years ago today. I’d been 21 less than two months and Amy had been 19 less than a day. Our worlds stopped, and we grew up in a heartbeat. Nothing forces adulthood on a child like helping make decisions about caskets and burial locations. In 1998 no one I knew talked about suicide. So when people asked me how long she had cancer I generally stared awkwardly and said “she didn’t” before walking away. I never felt the need to lie about the way she passed, but I always felt uncomfortable when people didn’t seem to know what to do in front of me with the facts.

20 years later and we are all wiser and braver. We not only share her story but we also share her truth. We share that her depression hid from most everyone for years and that she was an incredible mother and friend to us.  We share that all the goodness in me comes from the upbringing I was gifted from her and dad. The light of her life is much more important than the darkness that proceeded her death. My memories of her are vivid enough to wash away any lingering darkness. 

Am I still sad I lost my mom before my life really started?  Desperately sad. Do I mourn all the amazing things she missed when her depression finally won out?  Absolutely.  Am I a better person today because of the strength and tenacity gained through that hell?  You betcha. She taught me to see the best in every person and in every moment. Today, 20 years later, I honor her by seeing the good. That’s probably the most important and amazing adulting I’ll ever do.