Loss

A reflection on death, grief, and the human experience.

Sunday, January 14th, 2024.

A date that is forever ingrained in my heart and in my mind.

I was in my apartment in Boston, having just returned from a weekend trip to the Cape with a few of my friends from college. It was in the late afternoon and I had received a call from my grandfather. He only called once or twice a month, and I had just seen him in Arizona about two weeks prior. I was exhausted from the weekend and was was still unpacking everything, so I did not pick up the phone. I had done that in the past a couple of times, only to return his call later in the day once I had rested and gained more energy. Not even two minutes later I received a call from my father. I failed to answer his call, for the same reason as my grandfather, and made a mental note to call both of them back later.

Another two minutes had passed since my dad called when my phone rang again. It was another call from my father. I thought to myself, this never happens. I instantly got a pit in my stomach and knew that something was wrong. This time, I decided to answer the phone and feebly mustered: “Hey, Dad. What’s going on?”

There was silence on the phone for what felt like forever. I was about to say something again when my dad started to speak. His words hit me like a bullet to the chest, and all the wind was taken out of my next breath. I fell down to the floor at the foot of my bed and for the first time in my life felt a paralyzing shock take over my entire being. While the words he said to me were lost in a haze for the first few months, they have since returned to me as clear as day:

“Corbin, I am so sorry, but your mom has passed away.”

I didn’t know what to say. Part of me still doesn’t. Part of me never will.

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My mom was my best friend. We had an incredibly rich and deep relationship that started before I was even born. No matter who you ask that knew my mom, even in the slightest, everyone will say that me and my brother were her entire world. And it was true. All of my fondest and best memories from growing up revolve around her. In the laughter, the travel stories, the traditions, the love, the guidance, and the strength that she shared with me, I knew what genuine joy felt like.

She was my rock. And I was hers. As I got older our relationship not only matured, but deepened with how much time we spent together and the things we experienced together. While there were many things that I relied on her for, and she was an excellent parent in raising both me and my brother, she also relied on me for many things. I would often drive for her if she was too tired, or would run to get food and groceries or even fill up her car for gas if I had used it. While I loved being around her as much as I could, I knew that the earlier that I became independent the less she could worry about me and the more she could be there for my brother when he needed her the most. While I never knew and still don’t know what it’s like to be a single parent, I understood that I could make her life a little easier by stepping up and helping her out in any way that I could.

I think those feelings that I had, in my general desire to help her, were fueled by all of the ways in which she helped and loved me. Whether it was seeking advice, celebrating an accomplishment, or even just sharing a laugh, she was the person I always went to. She always made me feel like I was the most important thing in the world. And to her, I was.

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This loss is also my first true experience with grief. Grief is an incredibly complex, intensely deep, and unbelievably difficult to understand and live with. It comes in waves, and is often accompanied with a myriad of other feelings. I think this has been the most challenging part to manage over the past two years.

There will be moments where, out of nowhere, I will get this immensely deep and painful feeling of missing her, wishing I could just feel her arms wrapped around me in the way that only a mother could hug a son. I miss sitting in the passenger seat as she drove. I miss sitting on the couch watching a movie with her. I miss grabbing dinner at our favorite restaurant. I miss hearing her laugh. I miss when she would always greet me with “How did you sleep?” in the morning or say “I love you to the moon and back” at night.

While there are smaller moments like that, there are also those bigger, more momentous parts of life where you recognize that someone is missing. I remember when I got my first promotion at work, and celebrated by telling my roommates and friends and family at home. And while the praise and happiness I received was so genuine and heartfelt, there was a moment of pause I had amidst all of that with the recognition that I couldn’t call the one person I wanted to share the news with the most.

Those moments are often the most challenging. Not only is the feeling difficult in the moment, you can’t help but think of all the future moments where you know that those feelings will arise again. Blake’s graduation, weddings, having kids, more holidays, etc. The grief will never go away.

But, I think that’s where gratitude finds itself amongst all of this. I know it sounds weird, but this thought has always crossed my mind during this moments: How lucky am I to have experienced such a profound, loving, emotionally deep relationship with my mom in such a way that I am feeling this type of way after she has passed.

To be able to even experience that for the 23 years of my life that I did is so special. And something that I will forever hold onto and cherish for as long as I am alive. Not only that, but I will make it a priority to extend that same love, compassion, and empathy with other meaningful relationships in my life.

And I would do anything just to experience one of those things again. To feel another embrace from her. To share a meal. To watch a movie. Even to just hear her voice say my name.

But, I never will be able to for the rest of my life.

That is grief. That is pain. That is the human experience in its rawest form.

But, as is everything in life, we have to continue to live and to grow. Not only do I owe it to myself, but I owe it to her. My mom was the biggest source of strength and guidance growing up, and she instilled the tools in me to continue to grow and develop into the young man I am today. And while I wish she could physically be part and see that growth, I know deep down that she is and will always be proud of me. And that is what keeps me going.

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A few months ago I found myself chatting with my roommate, Pat, about my mom and about grief. He had asked me if I ever get resentful or jealous when I hear other people talk about doing things with their mom or talking to their mom on the phone. While these moments can definitely trigger some amounts of grief, after giving it some thought, I told him that I genuinely don’t feel any level of jealousy or resentment for other people talking about that.

Truthfully, I am always happy to hear when people do fun things or have good conversations with their parents, especially their mother. And deep down, I hope that they can enjoy that relationship for a long period of their life. The bond between a mother and a child is an incredibly special and unique relationship, and especially between a mother and her first-born son. I finished my thoughts by telling Pat that the world would be a better place if more mother-son relationships were like the one I had with my mother.

And again, while the pain and sadness will always be a part of who I am, how lucky am I that I was able to experience the love and care that my mom had for me for 23 years of my life. The only reason that I feel the way I do about her passing is because of the profound emotional connection that we shared together and, to me, that is life. In its purest form.

While I will always wish that she could experience future milestones with me in my life (and we had plenty of conversations about how excited we were to share those together), I know that she is still always there with me in my heart. And with that, I hope I am able to be a beacon of her love and care for those people in my life.

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To my beautiful mother, I will always be your sweet little boy. Forever and always.

I love you to the moon and back.