*I dedicate this to every mother who lives without her precious children, to every mother who has no living children, and to every woman who longs to be a mother. We see you. We remember you. We honor your motherhood. You are a beautiful, beautiful mother.
I love being a mother. But I am the mother of a child that has died and that makes Mother’s Day very hard. It’s a day we struggle with for those of us who have lost a child. Other days of the year I find I can make it a few hours without thinking about my loss. Other days of the year I can pretend that I am an ordinary person and that life is normal, but not on Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day is that “slap in the face” reality that my oldest child, my firstborn is gone. I have slowly come to terms that I will never feel complete without her.
This year will be my fifth Mother’s Day without Myesha. It’s been 2,122 days since I heard Myesha’s voice from her lips. 2,122 days since I ran my fingers through her hair and curled up next to her in the hospital bed once last time. 2,122 days since I laid my head on her chest and took in as many deep breaths as possible because this would be the last time I would smell her scent. 2,122 days since death became something very real to me. 2,122 days since the machines slowly flat-lined, a squealing and impeccable sound that will forever haunt me……
Until now I have never put into words publicly, on paper just how my daughter died. Like the details leading up to it. While I am restricted to a point in how much I can say, I feel obligated to share as much as I can during these racially radical times we are now living in. My child died because she was black, bi-racial, however one chooses to categorize her race. On medical records, Myesha died due to an infection she received in the operating room during a basic ankle surgery. A surgery we were able to put off for years so that she could get through high school and not have to worry about recovery time until the summer. I often think back and wonder what I could have done differently. I blame myself for not getting second opinions. For not using my motherly instincts and trusting a doctor who I thought had my daughter’s best interest in mind. I think back to that doctor holding me as I was sobbing in the hallway of that hospital as my child was slowly dying. Only to later discover, it had been noted in her medical charts, “black girl trying to get high”, due to the fact she was in so much pain she was eating her pain pills like candy and was still in agonizing pain, unknowing she had an infection. For the record, the autopsy showed my child had ZERO drugs in her system besides pain meds at the time of death. Myesha was in constant pain. The doctor often became frustrated and quite agitated at our constant calls expressing our concern. His response, “You knew this was going to be a tough recovery.” I often go back and read her text messages that I still have locked in my phone. I still have the sweet tea she never got a chance to finish in the door of my refrigerator because even after almost 6 years I can’t bear to throw it away. Honestly, I probably never will. I hate that man. I will never be the bigger person and forgive him. The condolence card that he sent me after her death was nothing more than a sweep of the feet when I later read her medical records from his office. It was the one piece of evidence I told my attorney I didn’t want back.
But in 2015, I didn’t have the news crews camped out in my driveway with cameras. I didn’t have nationwide publicity showing up on social media pages. Civil rights leaders like the Rev. Al Sharpton, did not eulogize my daughter’s funeral. I did that, I read her eulogy. I didn’t need all that. Honestly, I don’t know if I would have wanted all that. It was hard enough as it was to deal with at that very moment. We were all grief-stricken and in shock. But what I did have, was a profound amount of love and support from my friends and family, from here locally to across the world, reaching out and sending their love, support, and condolences. That for me, and my family, was more than enough. I thank each and every one of you for that from the bottom of my heart!
What this has done is made my family more aware of the times we are living in and sympathetic to every mother who has lost a child. What hits home is the grief. That is the one factor we feel we can relate to the most. The raw emotions of pain and suffering are made more relevant on every holiday we must endure and spend without them.
So when you lose a child, the one thing that never changes is the way your world will forever be changed. Mother’s Day is just one of many days that make that loss feel even more profound. It’s hard in the days coming to not feel angry, cheated, heartbroken, and then I worry that I won’t be there fully for Chloe, Corban, and my Mother, the way I should be. They still deserve to have ME. Their Mother. Her Daughter. But whether it’s the first, or now the fifth, a part of my heart will always belong to Myesha. This part used to be shared, but now no longer because she is not here to share her presence with us. So I am left with no choice but to chip away this part of my soul and dedicate it solely to her because that’s all I can do to survive. The truth is, it still hurts. It will always hurt.
My love as a mother will never change. I will love Myesha the same on Mother’s Day as I do on any other day. I will continue to miss her just as much. I will miss my breakfast in bed that she always made me. I will miss the way she would rally her sister and brother’s together to make sure the house was cleaned, and I didn’t have to lift a finger. I will treasure all the Mother’s Day gifts that I have from when she was just a little girl in school. I will pull these memories close to my heart and keep trying my hardest not to forget any of them. I will tell everyone how thankful I was to be Myesha’s mom for 18 years. I will continue to hold her close to me even through death.
I am a mother. My grief is real….
Mommy LOVES YOU Myesha Raven-Symone Reed
Myesha’s Last Selfie