There's No Greater Pain Than Watching Your Parents Die In Your Arms. You Can Never Be Ready For It

There's No Greater Pain Than Watching Your Parents Die In Your Arms. You Can Never Be Ready For It

The pain I felt when I lost them both is still fresh, like a wound that's never going to heal.

Image Source: Getty Images / kieferpix

Trigger Warning: Suicide/ Depression

I was always close to my mom. Between me and my siblings, I always felt like my mom favored me and made me feel special. I loved her to bits because I am who I am because of all the sacrifices she made for us as a family. My mom always ignored her own needs and wants because she wanted to make sure we had everything we wanted. If my sisters or I felt even a slight chill, she'd go out of her way to nurse us back to health. I think we all took her for granted, knowing that she'd always be around. Little did we know that wasn't true. I knew a lot of my friends who had strained relationships with their mothers while growing up, and I always felt lucky because she was my best friend. 

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I knew I could always count on my mom to be there for me and I've taken advantage of that on so many occasions, even after I moved out and started living by myself. One sneeze into the phone conversation with her, and I knew she'd be at my door the very next day. I've taken advantage of this situation because I just wanted her to be near me. I never once did wonder what she was leaving behind when she came home to be with me. My dad was a sweetheart, too, but I didn't realize that mom had to leave him alone when she came over. I didn't realize that my dad needed help with his medications because he, too, was growing old.

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My mom worked tirelessly, without a single complaint, to ensure that all of us were comfortable and that was a lot of traveling for her. She was growing old, too, and none of us chose to acknowledge that, For me, I didn't see why it was wrong for her to come to visit because I paid for her tickets. I didn't realize that there's more to life than taking care of someone's financial needs. Once, when I asked her to come, she said she couldn't because she had to be with dad as his health was deteriorating. I tried to understand, but I ended up negotiating with her to bring him with her, too. 

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For my happiness, she decided to do as I said. A week later, the guilt ate me inside out because I realized I'd made the worst mistake of my life. My dad was too sick to travel but I did not know that since ma hid it from us. For my happiness, she made him travel and that took his life. My father suffered an attack and I saw him die right before my eyes. It happened all so fast, there was just no time. By the time the paramedics arrived, he'd passed. I really couldn't handle the grief and guilt altogether. But, with my dad leaving us, he took a piece of my mom with him, too. The thing is, even after several years of marriage, the two of them were head over heels for each other. 


My mom hated staying away from dad, but she did everything she did for the three of us. These sacrifices went unnoticed, but after dad's death, my mom went into this state of depression. There was nothing any of us could do to get her out of it. She refused to eat, sleep, or even cry out loud. We were all worried, but me the most because I knew it was because of me that she was in this condition. What could I do? While mom lost her best friend, I lost mine and I understood how she felt. I stayed right by her side, but my sisters went back because they had responsibilities, too. 


It took months for her to speak to me. It took even longer for things to get back to normal, or at least that's what I thought. One day, she called me by my nickname and hugged me tightly. The joy I felt at that particular moment was overwhelming. After a long time, I left her alone at home and went out to buy some stuff so I could make her favorite cake. My mom was back and this was reason enough to celebrate. As I hummed a tune and trotted back home to my best friend, I had a lot of ideas in mind about how I wanted to make up for the grave mistake I made and help her recover fully. 

Source: Unsplash

I came home to an eery silence.  I knew, in my gut, that something was wrong, but nothing in the world could prepare me for what I saw next. My best friend, my mom, my protector, lying lifeless, clutching a photo fo my dad. There was just so much blood all around her that I fainted right after calling 911. I woke up to see them rolling her body away. It was all a blur after that. The funeral, the words of comfort and life, in general. Days passed. One day, when I rummaged through ma's old belongings to donate them, I found a note. I opened it. But while I bawled my eyes out, I realized that my mom always loved me, even when I thought she hated me. 


The note didn't say much, it just said, "I love you, always remember that. Love, mom." However, that was enough. Enough for me to move on in life. Enough for me to know that she'd forgiven me. Enough to realize this is what it means to unconditionally love someone. Her letter is what brought me back to life. The pain I felt when I lost them both is still fresh, like a wound that's never going to heal. There's not a day where I don't regret what happened or where I don't miss them both, but I know I'll see them again. Until, then, Que sera sera. 

Source: Pixabay
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