Class of 2022

Dear Mamma,

I have a serious confession to make, arguably. Are you ready? You sure? Positive? Okay, okay! I’ll spill. Just, don’t curse me or something. It’s been a rough few days and the probability of me having my third mental collapse of the week is a turd storm waiting to happen. Alright, here it goes. Mamma... I can't remember the last words you said to me.

It’s bad isn’t it?

Look, I was 12 years old then. Boring, dumb, shy as a thimble. Quiet, edgy, and approaching the age where playing house with my favorite teddies and dolls began to dull my appetite for imagination. I had just graduated from the 5th grade, middle school sneering at me just around the bend. So literally anything you’ve said to me both inconsequential or as important as bread and butter not only went through one ear and out the other, but missed it entirely alright. Sue me!

On a brighter note, I'm finally a high school graduate, mamma! Grand spanking class of 2022! Across the homestretch go to thy wretched foes woe of adulthood, or something. You're proud of me, right? Right? You know what, I'll take the creepy breeze that drifted in my room as a maybe.

Look, back to the whole ‘ I can’t remember your last words' thing, I swear on my Harry Styles vinyl collection that I'm being honest. I really can’t remember a damn thing. Me and my potato head of a brain gets nowhere close to recollection. I feel like crap about it, hell I’ve been beating myself in the kneecaps over it for years. And you’re probably saying something along the lines of ‘You’re busting brain cells over that?’. I get it, but it’s important to me because… well, because.

You know, I've been thinking about something for a while now. I’m getting closer and closer to where I have to put on my big-boy trousers and luck it out on my own. In the “real world” and whatnot. But as I find myself nearing this 'adulthood' stuff, I just feel... I don't know... nothing.

Not what you were expecting to hear right? Believe me, I'm just as shocked as you are. I'm stuck in a strange conundrum of feeling void of any real, I don’t know. Premonition? There's no joy, wonder, or fulfillment. There’s maybe some sadness... okay, maybe a lot of sadness. My uncertainty is a canonically glorified mind-bang, and I have so many unchecked regrets and fears. The shock of the age, hardly. The craziest thing is I was so excited to finally turn eighteen and freaking graduate. Like, what teen isn't? But now that I'm here, now that I've finally made it I just feel... well, you tell me?

Well, on a not-so-lighter note, I have something else important that I want to confess. I haven't told anyone this before, so I'm telling you this now, because I haven’t been honest with myself up until now. And you of all people would want to hear the truth.

Looking back now, I don’t believe I thought much of your diagnosis at all. I believed if you could survive cancer once, you could do it again easily. Well, it's fair to say your death the following year was a shock to remember. You were just gone. Boom! Dead. Absent. Years later, just another afterthought. Another set of bones in an overpriced casket rotting beneath the earth. I know, it sounds bad just thinking about it. I mean, who on god's green earth wants to anticipate loss when the thought is futile and just, sad?

It's like watching a tragic story unfold on television about a plane crash. It's shocking, upsetting, hard to swallow down with morning coffee, but most people will still book their flight to the Bahamas the next day without a second or first thought. Why? Because it's always this, "That could never happen to me!", “Well, that’s a damn shame. That’s just what’s expected when you fly Spirit airlines!”. That Sorta thing. Optimism bias they call it. And sure! It could never happen to you, and it most likely, very much won't.. until it does.

And still to this day, for the life of me, I can't remember your last words to me.

Maybe it was something along the lines of , "Get in here and wash these damn dishes!"? Or was something like you scolding me about bedtime and my inclination to stay up longer than my body needed? Perhaps it wasn't words at all. Maybe, it was the sighs or the hollow stares you gave to replace answers for all the things little me had to say, ask, or share. Just some form of your acknowledgment, a verification of my presence because you were too weak from all the chemo to even speak. Maybe the pain you were in was so utterly incomprehensible that I, or any of us, was the last thing on your mind?

I was a quiet child, remember? Unseen to the naked eye. Whenever trouble ensued, I managed to fade into background noise every single time. And oh boy, was I good at it.

In retrospect, you weren't the most approachable person there was. You hated when we cried. Hated when we showed emotions, especially in your presence even before the diagnosis. Fear, sadness, sometimes even joy would send you into a sour mood. And oh boy, did you hate when we failed or found ourselves in a bind, like that one time I failed my math test because you didn't teach me timetables and scolded me for it, which is neither here nor there, but still. I just couldn’t understand you, and I desperately wanted to. And now I never can.

Sometimes I wonder if the only reason I was so depressed about your passing is because I no longer had a mother anymore. And sometimes I wonder if the real reason I hold so much importance over remembering your last words is because I’ve been clutching on any remaining fond memories I have of you. And sometimes, only sometimes, I wonder if my life would be better or worse if you were still alive today. Harsh, I know! I’ve hated myself for even thinking the worst of the worst about you. You’re gone now, I should let go and move on and just think of the good. But even those are hard to remember.

I can't say it was all bad. I still hold onto the memories, enough to count them on one hand. Though, there is one memory, one fond memory that stands out from the rest. One sunny afternoon you were standing over the kitchen sink, washing dishes before cooking dinner. Then I see you and find myself sneaking up behind you and pushing my arms through yours and hugging you from behind. I don't know what inclined me to do it, I just… did. You grinned down at me and grabbed my arms, trying to sever my hold on you, but I just wouldn't let go. I just giggled and held you tighter and tighter. Then you turned around and pulled me into the warmest hug, laughter ringing through the kitchen. And then, you called me your little ladybug. Your ladybug.

And… that’s all. That's all I have left of you really. The other memories of us kinda resurface on their own time, like whenever I see a duck and remember one time a flock of them chased us at the park for bread.

So yeah, that’s all I got. And you know what, maybe memories can be enough after all. I will hold them even tighter now than ever. Because let’s be real, last words are overrated anyhow. You could’ve said something weird like, “Milk comes before the cereal,” or something like a freaking weirdo. But no matter how things may have gone down, I still love you. I never stopped loving you and I don’t think I could. So don’t worry mamma. Your Class of 2022 senior graduate is going to do fine. And as always, I will always be your ladybug.

Sincerely,

Your Ladybug