My Mom Died, I Literally Do Not Know How To Tell You

You’d think that after seven years, three months, and three days I would have come up with easiest way of gently informing people that the mother they just inquired about is dead. But I haven’t.

Maybe it’s the fact that you know what’s coming but the other person doesn’t. It wouldn’t be half as bad if the person asked “Is your mother alive?” in which case I’d promptly respond, “funny you ask!” But people are reluctant to set you up for that kind of success these days. Instead, they ask you where she lives or what she does or if she’s the parent you speak French with.

A small aside: A long time ago, about two months after my mom had died, someone was using my cell phone, which had a picture of her set as the background. “Your mom’s hot!” he exclaimed. I thanked him. “No, but she’s really hot. I’m gonna marry her,” he joked. Oh gaaaad, How do you let the creepy gentleman know that he will never marry your mother, no matter how “hot” she is. Not to mention how weird it feels to have your deceased mother referred to as hot by some guy who lives in your friend’s basement.

So when you casually slip in that she’s not alive, they act like you slapped them, unprovoked.

There’s also no gentle way of saying it. “She passed away,” makes me feel like I’m from Little House on the Prairie; “She died,” makes you sound morbid. “She’s dead,” sounds like she literally has just died and you are breaking the news to the world. “She’s not alive,” sounds cryptic, like what are you tryna say? I usually settle for a “she died when I was younger.”

I add the last clause in an attempt to remove myself from the tragedy. And I don’t do it for me. I do it for you. I at least try to set you up for success.

I guess now would be the time to acknowledge the small category of people who receive the news well, because you make our lives easier. Their success lies in their ability to process things, on the inside! Because sometimes the only other option people seem to think they have is, “Oh my god! That’s terrible you poor, poor, motherless child!” “It’s okay,” I’ll respond, all of a sudden wondering why I’m the one comforting a stranger about the fact that my mom died.

I’ve considered using God to help me ease into it. “My mother (pause and gaze upward) let her rest in peace, once told me…” but I’d probably start laughing, further confusing my audience, because you simply cannot laugh when your mother has died.

Luna Garzón-Montano