Death is something we all have in common and yet experiencing it causes divisiveness.

It’s all in the timing, I guess. When I was 19 years old, I lost my bad-ass mother, Janet, who was

the only one who really raised us. My dad is an intellect. He works from home, but he’s inside

his head more often than not. My mom listened, challenged us and attended to our every need

and ran the household. She also cracked a mean whip, there are six children after all.

We as a whole family, (4 boys, 2 girls) and our father, watched as cancer choked the life out of

her. Literally. The tumors had moved from her breast to her brain then to her lungs. Eventually,

fluid built up in her lungs and she drowned in front of us. She couldn’t even speak, but the way

her eyes looked at us told us all we needed to know. She looked terrified, sad, and desperate.

Horrifying.

College. I was a sophomore and living in Santa Barbara. I didn’t really care how well I

did in college, I just knew my parents wanted me to go. I juuust wanted to get by in life and have

a good time. I got a phone call from my Dad during winter break of 2015. He asked me if I could

come home, Mom had decided to quit treatment and go on hospice care. I was at work, I finished

my shift, went home and packed my bags and drove to Bakersfield. I arrived on a Tuesday, she

died on Saturday, I was back to school on Monday.

College. Work. Roommates. Friends. There are no instant solutions to dealing with

someone who is grieving. Try as you may, you can’t instantly heal and more often than not

you’re gonna frustrate or exacerbate feelings of anger, sadness, and loneliness (This is okay! Dig

in and try again! And again! And again...) and it’s okay to feel sad and depressed for long

periods of time. It’s okay. It really is okay. There’s nothing you can do about it. No booze, drugs,

pills, therapy, friendships, relationships, sex or anything can cure it. You’re gonna wake up

feeling like shit and missing the hell out of a person who you will never see again. Good luck.

I think out of human kindness we all want to be the ones to “help” someone in need.

Right? Often, however, we try so hard to offer advice, solutions, dopamine producers and

chemical enhancers to make that person feel as if “everything will be okay”. However, most the

time we fall a little short. We so badly want to help we end up talking more than listening. Or

maybe someone would drag me out (someone in a pit of depression and sadness) around on some

crazy, half-baked planned night out, or college party, but the night never had the desired effect

they wanted. That’s some movie shit, Most of the time, in these situations, I’d feel miserable and

out of place. I couldn’t muster up any excitement or joy and everyone would slowly move away

from me because well. I was a killjoy to be honest. It’s awful sweet, isn’t it? That we want so

badly to fix things for the ones we love? The honest truth is the only thing someone should do is

slow down and listen. Or do nothing. Pain and loss are something that slowly works itself out.

 

We are often only as good as our life experiences or the knowledge past down to us from

our parents, friends, and environment. It took me quite a while to have an honest healing

moment. I was depressed for 2.5 years. Looking back, I feel I should have bounced back sooner.

I didn’t totally quit on life. I held down two jobs, went (paid) for rent and school in Santa

Barbara and met some great people. However, I felt completely miserable and alone for 2.5 years

and acclimated self-pity and hopelessness that only seem to spread like a virus in my body and

leach onto my brain. If happiness (while fleeting) can be attained and held onto normally for

weeks or month I felt lucky to be happy for a few hours or days. Getting up was difficult. I was

exhausted and anti-social. I was reserved, I didn’t go out unless I had to and felt bitter towards

people when I did.

It only took one night for my life to get back on course. I started on some miserable rant

and for once a couple of friends just listened. They didn’t change the subject, they didn’t try to

cheer me up. I believe the let me talk for over an hour. It felt like drawing out the poison. At

times I couldn’t believe what came out. But. Since that night I slowly started to get better and I

knew when I awoke the next morning that something in me had changed. That was the summer

of 2017. As I start 2019 I am the happiest I have been in years. It was a long, frustrating, heart-

aching, bitter, and at times utterly hopeless journey to get here. But, I’m here. And I feel good.

No, I didn’t bury the past, I miss my mom everyday! I wish I still FEEL her love and listen to her

guidance. I can barely remember what her voice sounds like and sometimes I need to study an

old photo to recall her face. But, I’m honest with myself more than ever. I feel purpose in my

life. I know what I want and I’m going head on for it! I value my family and friends and find

ways to share that (and myself) with them. And allow myself to still feel sorrow or just plain

crappy, without too much self-pity or in-action. There are so many people to thank for this

but I rather just thank everyone, because "good or bad", "wrong or right" everyone helped me get here.

 

So thank you,

 

Lots of Love,

​

Ulysses Guimarra