December 5th, 2009 marks the beginning of my transition from childhood to adulthood. Most do not find that event occurring until they’re at least 16, even 18. My transition was not an easy one, for it is scarred by tragedy. This transition came at the ripe old age of 13 in Lincoln City, Oregon, a beautiful town on the Oregon coast which my mother loved so dearly.

My mother never got sick. She had an iron immune system that was only penetrable by the smallest hint of acute viral rhinopharyngitis or just simply: the common cold. So when she was admitted to the ER with a high fever and constant vomiting, my dad and I were worried. I was at home answering phone calls, we were supposed to be decorating the church my dad pastored at the time, but that never did happen. I had just gotten off the phone with my Nana, my mother’s mother, when my dad called, informing me my mother was going to need emergency surgery for a perforated intestine. My dad picked me up, taking me to the ER so I could see her before she was taken in. Little did I know, it would be two months before I would get to see her again.

She went in to surgery roughly around 8:45 AM and didn’t get out until after 8 PM. At that time, the doctor came out and told my dad and me, contrary to the perforated intestine, they found stage 4 colon cancer and told us she had a 14% chance of surviving. She stayed at that hospital for about a week and a half before she was Life Flighted to the ICU at Emmanuel Hospital in Portland.

She stayed in the ICU, totally comatose for a month and a half before she was moved to the less intensive care unit, TRACU. It was during that time, my Nana died of heart failure. At this point in time, with my mom in the hospital and my Nana having just passed away, my family deemed ourselves living in a Nicolas Sparks book. For two months I was under the stress of not knowing whether my mom would be there when I woke up or not.

My mom finally got to move back home the weekend before Valentine’s Day of 2010. She was taken to the rehab center (which eventually closed down due to bad reviews). She stayed there for a week before she came home. My dad and I became her caretakers, the sole responsibility falling on my dad due to my having to attend school, though at that point school was the last thing on my mind. My mother lived for two years under our care, getting better every day to the point she was driving me home from school. But soon, she started deteriorating, the cancer finally catching up, dragging her down to the point she was just simply a body in a hospital bed in our living room, where we’d pray every breath wasn’t her last. But that day came too soon. I was there the day she drew her last breath, across the room from her when she faded from this world, leaving me, my brother, my sister, all of us to grieve on August 15, 2011.

This doesn’t even begin to explain everything that happened during those two years. I changed, no longer able to rely on my mother, having an adult’s responsibility placed on me at the age of 13. When she died, it finalized the feeling of being an adult. It’s only by the grace of God I’m still here, for he’s the one who brought me through that dark time that barely seems real anymore.