My mother died two days after Mother’s Day in 2023. She had been preparing me for her death for years, but I wasn’t prepared for all the bullshit that came after.
My mom was diagnosed with cholangiocarcinoma, a rare cancer also known as bile duct cancer, less than a week before she passed. She also had a mass in her kidneys that the doctors suspected was cancer, but they focused on the bile duct cancer because it was causing the most catastrophic issues. She lost mobility in her legs about three weeks after I gave birth to her first and only grandchild in December of 2019. She spent the last part of her life confined to a hospital bed in the house for almost four years.
My mom was tired. She fought a long, painful battle to stay alive. She used to tell me she just wanted to live long enough to see her granddaughter run down the hallway, right where her hospital bed faced. And she did.
Mother’s Day was May 14th. She passed away on May 16th. My birthday is May 31st, and my college graduation was June 6th. She didn’t even get to see me walk across the stage. I was torn, but I had to hold it all together. I’d been down this road before when my father died. My mom had always told me exactly what to do when her time came, but I went against her wishes.
She didn’t want a funeral. She told me many times, “Chop me up and throw me in the ocean, then go live your life.” In other words, she wanted to be cremated, no funeral—just a party. I couldn’t bring myself to do that. Her brothers and the rest of the family wouldn’t have understood. I was afraid they’d judge me if I didn’t go all out for her. I also thought having a funeral might bring the family closer, and I knew I would need support.
My mom had only two kids. My sister and I are 19 years apart. She is the oldest, but my sister isn’t mentally all there. I knew I’d have to support her, even though it wouldn’t be reciprocated. All the people I could lean on had died in the years before my mom’s passing, including my boyfriend who was murdered 5 months prior to my mom's death. I just wanted family around me, so I did what I thought would be best to bring everyone together.
I planned a funeral using my mom’s burial insurance, which was $10,000. Because of her many preexisting conditions, she only qualified for burial and accidental death insurance. She had a $100,000 accidental death policy, and that’s an important part of this story.
A few months before she passed, she was planning to prepay for her cremation. I told her she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. But she kept saying, “Cremate me and take the rest of the money and go.”
The night before the funeral, my sister on my dad’s side came over. I thought she was coming to check on me like any loving sibling would. Instead, she came with drama. She told me that “people” were saying I didn’t let the doctors try to save my mom, and that I let her die to cash in on the insurance money. She asked why I didn’t approve dialysis or surgery. Her questions cut deep.
I explained to her, though I shouldn’t have had to, that my mom’s kidneys had shut down and her blood pressure was too low to even begin dialysis. The doctors walked me through all the options, but they were all “if-then” situations. If her blood pressure stabilized, they could try dialysis, but she was so weak there was a high chance she would die on the machine. Surgery wasn’t possible because of her size and her congestive heart failure. Once she began bleeding out from multiple places, the doctors suggested she stay in the hospital. It wouldn’t be long. Within hours of that conversation, she took her last breath.
I didn’t even get the chance to make a decision about her life. My sister stayed for less than 30 minutes just to get the “tea.” That “tea” was piss.
At the funeral, everyone wore lavender. Her casket had a beautiful lavender floral print. I did her makeup and dressed her in her favorite outfit. I sprayed her down with Chanel No. 5. She looked like an angel.
But as if the night before wasn’t enough, the funeral itself was painful. My cousin, who my mom helped raise, was in the middle of a mental health crisis. He was talking to himself, walking up to the casket repeatedly. Eventually, he stepped out and somehow got into a fight with a stranger in the neighbor’s yard. A whole fight outside my mama’s funeral. The one she didn’t even want.
I had to hold it together, act like I didn’t know my own family believed I let my mom die for money. SMH.
After the funeral, I planned a repast, a chance for family to connect. Things were going okay… until they weren’t. My cousin’s baby daddy approached me, asking if I’d pay him $50 to set up his DJ equipment since his client had canceled. I said no, I had my own speaker and Apple Music. He asked again. And again. All while he was already charging guests $5–$10 for photos. The nerve. No empathy, just dollar signs.
Then my sister, the one on my dad's side, got in a dark mood. She told me a man we all know, someone not in his right mind, said he would “turn her straight.” (she is a stud lesbian). I tried to joke about it, but she stormed off to get her gun from the car. She told other cousins what happened, which set off a chain reaction.
Next thing I knew, fists were flying. My cousins were fighting at my mother’s house, at her repast. I was in the middle, dodging punches.
After it was over and the man left, I broke down. I walked to the back, crying uncontrollably. Then I crashed out. I spoke my truth out loud. My cousin’s baby daddy walked up to me and got too close, and my reflexes took over I tried to slap him. How dare you ask me for money, after profiting off my mom’s funeral, after taking two giant plates home, after taking pictures for money?
I was yelling, not even at anyone specific, but I know the ones who talked behind my back heard me. The repast was over.
I felt hurt. Betrayed. Unconsoled. Unprotected. My own sister turned on me. And then she went on Instagram throwing subliminals like I didn’t try to diffuse the situation. I couldn’t believe it. Picture/proof for context because this shit was unreal to me. EVERYONE IS FAKE! Even the ones acting like they care.
REFLECTION:
Since the funeral, I haven’t even scattered my mom’s ashes. The guilt of going against her wishes still lingers in my spirit. But the chaos that followed her death taught me something I couldn’t have learned any other way: sometimes, the love we seek from people is not the love we need. I thought a funeral would bring my family together, but it only showed me how broken those ties were. In that loss, I found a deeper connection with God and with myself. My faith became my anchor. I learned that closure doesn’t always come in a neat package. It doesn’t always happen at a funeral or with a final goodbye. Sometimes, it comes in the quiet after the storm—when you realize you are still standing, still breathing, still growing. I now understand that honoring my mother isn’t about what others think—it’s about listening to the voice inside that tells me I’m doing the best I can. That voice is stronger now. And it tells me I don’t need anyone’s approval to heal.
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