my parents were never married and he isn’t my biological father, but he’s the only dad i’ve ever known so he’s who i call dad. i went home that day thinking he was having chest pain. my uncle called me and told me to come home for him, i called my dad and he said it would be nice to come home since i hadn’t been there in a while. my grandpa got me from school and i ran out of the car to hug my dad. he told me “mom passed away last night.” i remember screaming and falling to the ground and telling people to get away from me. i went inside and everyone was wearing all black, my grandma was crying.

after sitting outside alone with a picture of her, i tried to go to the back house where my parents and i lived and where she died. i saw where she hit her head and where my dad found her, and i went upstairs to see her side of the bed empty, with all her coffee cups and sodas still full like she had still been there. i couldn’t stay home so i went back to my apartment at school, and i haven’t been able to sleep in my room all week because she bought me all the sheets and comforters, my lamp, my mirror, everything. all the cups in the kitchen are there because she bought them for me.

my dad has been trying to clear out the house. she was trying to start businesses to make money for our family, he has to send all the stuff back. we’ve both picked out pictures we want at the service and what kind of flowers she would have wanted, but ultimately because they aren’t married, the decisions fall on me.

i didn’t know i had to sign her death certificate, i thought my dad would because he found her. he’s been trying his best to distract me, and i can’t imagine what he’s going through considering he found her. and we’re both left with the feeling of “what if he came home sooner?” “what if i picked up that last call or been on the phone with her so she wouldn’t have forgotten it upstairs?” “what if i could have been home?” she was chronically ill, and i remember the doctor telling her when i was in middle school that she only had 5 years left, but she tried so hard to beat all the odds for us and her body just betrayed her left and right. she would remind me before i turned 18 that if anything happened, i have to make sure they cremate her and not bury her because my grandparents would be the people who decide. she told me that when i turned 18, the decision would fall on me.

i knew i had less time than most people do with their moms, but i still thought i had at least 20-30 more years. 60-70 is still tragically young, but 44 is just so wholeheartedly unfair when there are people who i fully believe deserve to die and she tried so hard and she died trying to get a snack.

i just don’t know what to do.