May 27, 2005 was the day you took your final breath.

June 1, 2005 was the day we laid you to rest.

 

Five days of crying.

Five days of fighting.

Five days of fingers pointing.

 

Five days of shouting.

Five days of mourning.

Five days of disbelief.

 

Five days of wondering.

Five days of sheltering.

Five days of “why me?”.

 

Five years later and it had finally hit me.

Five years later and I realized I needed my mom.

Five years later and I spin into depression.

 

Five years of lying.

Five years of forgetting.

Five years of anger.

 

Five more years of treatment.

Five more years of healing.

Five more years of coping.

 

Here we sit nearly ten years later, and I am at peace.

Ten years later, and I’m happy you no longer hurt.

Ten years later, and I’ll share your story across the world.

Losing my mother in 2005 left me heartbroken for the longest time, but I believe that her passing has taught me to grow into the strong, confident young woman that I am now. I have learned that not every road you drive down is going to be smooth, and that speedbumps are only put into place to protect you.