Thahabu

I broke down crying to “Wiseman” by Frank Ocean. I was using the Trntbl website to look through all the songs I’ve posted on my Tumblr, looking back to see how I dealt with my depression before 18. “Wiseman closed his mouth, madman closed his fist,” Frank croons, and I smiled as if I hadn’t heard the song in decades, but each word rolled off my tongue like a relative’s nickname. Then those first eight lines ended and I wasn’t prepared for what he said next, “But your mother would be proud of you-uuu.” The ugliest sound escaped my mouth and tears ran down my face.

“I bet your mother would be proud of you.”

At 19, I’m supposed to have everything together. It’s not that “you’re nearing your 20s and you think you should have everything together when that’s not actually true” thing. It’s more that I was always expected to have it together mentally, at all times, because my single dad didn’t know how best to deal with my emotions. It wasn’t in him to be nurturing in that way, and that’s not his fault, it just wasn’t something we talked about. Whenever I had an anxiety attack or a breakdown he would tell me to calm down and keep my head up, advice that wasn’t helpful, at all. I had counselors to talk to at school, but there are so many conversations I have with myself that I’m supposed to be having with my mom, “OK, Thahabu, what’s wrong with you, how are you going to fix this?” I ask, then I have to struggle with myself to find solutions. I run in this never ending loop because I’m not my mom; I’m not even supposed to know a quarter of these answers.

My mom has these answers but she’s dead, and since I never met her I’m not even aware that she’s the one I should be talking to. Not only am I crying about whatever screwed-up situation I’m in at the time, I also become frustrated with myself and cry harder because I feel something missing. Perhaps what I’m going through wouldn’t be that serious, if that something was there. It’s like screaming into an empty abyss. I feel helpless and pathetic, then an invisible freight train hits me in the chest and I realize the reason I’m going in circles is because my mom would be the one to answer these questions and help me in these situations. I’m unaware that I miss her because she’s never been around. I have no reference for or expectation of what my mother would do. It’s a very un-fucking-settling feeling. Although I do not know her she has such a huge effect on my life. My ninth grade English teacher described it perfectly, “Even though you never got a chance to meet her, you can still feel her absence,” which encapsulates how I’ve felt my entire life. My mother’s absence is so strong and apparent. It’s in the eyes of the loved ones she left behind, and in those moments when I’m lying in bed screaming for a reason I can’t come up with for five long minutes.

She’s not here but she’s here, a truth eerily comforting but very painful. Physically painful. Sometimes, I start to feel as though I’ve forgotten something—you know that feeling, when you leave the house and you’re already far away, then dread fills you because you know something important is back at home but you just can’t put your finger on it? My stomach hollows and my chest tightens like a double-knotted shoelace. Am I supposed to be talking to someone or holding something? I’m confused and so is my body. Like me, it’s trying to cope with not having a mom. This is a merciless, lonely feeling. Her absence claws at the back of my neck. I know she’s supposed to be here with me.

I’ve carried this emptiness since I was a child, moments like these aren’t new to me. Only, it’s gotten worse. There’s a larger, deeper, stronger emptiness. My high school guidance counselor told me that it’s natural for me to miss her, but unlike people who actually have memories of a dead parent, I’ll run into grief instead of it being triggered by remembering something about her. It’ll only get worse as I age because, as I grow into my womanhood, I’ll be met with more and more ask-your-mom experiences. I just have to become comfortable with it. I look like a person I’ve never met, a person I’m supposed to know. She’s missing my becoming a woman, and it’s making me more sad than it used to.

And I’m scared. What if I’m not turning out the way she’d want me to? My dad tells me she would be proud of me, but with the grades I’m getting right now I’m not too sure. I need her most at this turning point in my life. I feel childish for feeling that way. The absence of someone who was supposed to be an integral part of my growth as a person is just as strong as losing someone I knew personally. It’s my invisible symptom. I’ll forever be encountering odd situations that wouldn’t be so odd if I had a mom. ♦