The Day Everything Changed

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I was about nine years old, still in elementary school, when everything in my world shifted. That morning, as I was getting ready to leave for school, I went looking for my mom. I found her in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, trying to hide the fact that she was coughing up blood.

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Her cough was dry, but the blood was real — mucus straight from her lungs. She waved me off, trying to protect me, saying:

 

“Juda, go ahead and go to school. Get good grades.”

“Are you okay, Mommy?” I asked. She tried to smile, and I told her:

“When I get older, Mommy, I’ll be your doctor so you don’t have to pay for anything.”

She nodded and told me to hurry before I was late.

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That day at school, a classmate teased me about my mom being on welfare. I fought him, thinking I was defending her. On the way home, I was excited — ready to tell my mom how I stood up for her. But as I reached my block, I saw people crying. Not me — I was happy, running home, ready to tell my mom the story.

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Then my father pulled up and told me to get in the car. I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t let me wait for her to come home. Not even a mile away, he told me the truth: my mom had passed away. The cause? Walking Pneumonia.