My mom’s name is Denise Johnson. 

She was diagnosed with terminal Large Cell Neuroendocrine Carcinoma on February 1st 2022. She transitioned on June 24th 2022. Paradoxically, I remember some of the smallest details from that day, but the grief after, has been a fog of forgetfulness.

I remember oddly waking up at 5:00am that day. I’ve never been a morning person. I went to my mom’s room to give her the new medication the hospice nurse brought over the day before. I recall being told that everything I gave her from that point forward would keep her calm and comfortable. When I entered the room, she looked different and I knew it was time. She reached out for me as if she needed a hug.

I hugged her and said, “you’re going to be ok mommy, I love you so much.”

Within the next 30 minutes, my mom transitioned, looking straight at me.

Surprisingly, calmness overcame me.

My heart was aching but I was at peace with knowing that she was no longer suffering. I now believe that she was waiting for me. For one last hug. One last I love you.

My mom was an amazing, perfectly imperfect, loving, strong, and selfless woman. There aren’t enough adjectives to describe the type of person my mom was and is. Growing up, I remember my mom working 6-7 days a week, just to make ends meet for us. As a single mother, she did an outstanding job and gave me every opportunity to experience an exceptional life. I got to experience all the things she didn’t. I was on every sports team. A member of every leadership club. A debutante. I never went hungry. I was always motivated with healthy/positive love and reinforcement.

As a single mother with a lower-middle class income, she made my dreams a reality and helped me attend my dream school, Spelman College. It is because of her that I am a college student at the number one HBCU in the United States. My mom pushed me to be better than the environment we were surrounded by. She refused to let anything hold me back.

I remember my mom taking in a lot of people throughout my life - family members who lost their homes, younger cousins who didn’t have a good relationship with their own moms. She was a house mother at a group home for teenage boys from marginalized communities. She finally became an official foster mother when I started high school. From then on, she took in many young girls my age who just needed healthy love and a listening ear. Anyone who knew her would describe her as a loving, selfless, and caring person. She put everyone before herself. It was her greatest gift and unfortunate flaw. I can’t remember many times where my mom catered to herself. 

Today, it makes me sad to think of that, but I strongly believe my mom was happy with the life she lived.

She touched so many lives within her 50 years. There’s no word to amount to the legacy she left for me.

It has been 196 days since I last saw my mom.

I remember not being able to go a week without her when she would force me to spend spring breaks with my dad. These past six months have been dreadful, lonely, and ironically beautiful. Being 20 years old and the only child, having to plan my moms service broke me. As each day passed, life felt so unbearable.

I felt detached from the world. Every moment and accomplishment felt so trivial. Without my mom here in the physical presence, I’ve lost a part of myself spiritually, intellectually, and mentally. After therapy and joining a support group called “Ma” for students who’s mothers have also transitioned, life has become more livable for me.

I’ve gotten closer to my friends and roommates. I’ve started immersing myself back into college life. Although my life will never feel normal without my mom, I’ve made a promise to make her every sacrifice worth it. I’ve learned that our time with people in the physical form, is limited.

People aren’t ours to have forever. That makes our time here even more vulnerable.

I feel my mom everyday.

I feel her in the wind.

In the memories I have each day.

In the moments when I cry, just wanting some motherly advice and then remembering exactly what she would say.

In the selflessness and compassion I try to exhibit everyday.

I feel my mom everywhere, but I miss her so dearly.

Throughout my struggle after her transition, I’ve learned that when it’s all said and done, I crave to be at least half the woman my mom was.

Her love.

Her compassion.

Her strength.

It’s everything I want to embody throughout my physical life here.

My mom always reminded me that faith, even the size of a mustard seed, is all I need in life, to achieve the purpose God and the Universe has set forth for me.