I’ve been pretty apprehensive about writing about this, especially since it doesn’t really fit the theme of this blog.  After a good amount of consideration, I think it is necessary to write about, even if no one ends up reading it.

My mother was finally put to rest.

My mom was always one to put me on the right path.  She’d tell me what to do, even if I didn’t always agree with it.  But I’ve never been upset from listening to her advice.  She had a tendency to always be right about things.  She was also supportive of the things I enjoyed, particularly my photography.  Whenever I was home, I’d show her my latest project, and she’d always say that she liked it.  Looking back now, I’m not sure if she actually did like my work, but she did a great job pretending that she did.

Regardless, she always told me to put school first.  You always say a sarcastic “yes, of course” to demands like this.  But when it’s coming from your own mother who has stage 4 cancer, you take it a bit more seriously.  I put the camera away and worked my absolute hardest.  I still do.

It’s hard for me to articulate my feelings now.  My mind is a bit scattered, even as I write this.  I feel sadness, because she is finally gone.  Relief, because she is no longer in pain.  Lonely, because one of my closest people in my life is gone.  Regret, because I wasn’t there at her last moments.  As long as I occupy myself, my brain doesn’t unravel into this mess of emotions.  And for the most part it works, except when it doesn’t.

If I had to say anything to you now Mom, it’s that I’m sorry I failed you in the past.  I’m sorry that you never got to see me become an eye doctor.  But I want you to rest well.  You’ve done so much to raise two sons to be who we are today.  You were an amazing wife to a husband that was so blessed to have you.  You made so many friends wherever you went, up until the very end.

This photo was taken in my living room in my home in New York.  I’ve seen hundreds of sunsets like this, but this was the first one my Mom never got to see on the day that she passed.


Goodnight Mom.  I’ll see you on the other side.

2.19.59 – 10.30.18

One Reply to “Goodnight Mom”

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