Personal Story
“Jordan, just checking on you, wanted to know what time you’ll be getting home – uhmm – yeah just checking, I love you.” – “Hey, I told you to call me back! Why haven’t you called me back yet? Well, just making sure you’re alright.” *repeat* The first week following December 10th I listened to these voicemails over and over again. You’d think it would get better, you’d think the voice would let you go, maybe even make you stronger. Instead it made me weak; so, so weak. I tried to be strong, I would raise my shoulders high and proud, and build a façade bigger than I could hold, but at night, when no one was looking, I’d let it all fall. My shoulders would slump over and my façade would crumble. When the only thing I ever got from my father was the color of my skin, it made it so much harder – so much harder to let go of the one person that gave you everything else.
It started in February. Tears sealed her mouth as my mom tried to tell me something. After fumbling over so many words she let it out in a swift burst, “I have cancer.” And so I ran.
For the next eight months I tried so hard to ignore it. My mom was going through chemotherapy but her pain was shadowed by her strength, which made it a whole lot easier for me to disregard. It was not until the tail end of October that I could no longer reject what was happening. I went to the hospital and cried as I looked at the skeleton of the woman I knew as my mother. The life seemingly sucked out of her, but she was still there, the person I knew as my mother held a weaker body but a stronger mind. At that moment I let go of my pathetic imitation of ignorance and adopted her strength.
The hospital became my home for the next two months. I left school at the end of my first semester of junior year and became a full time son. I took care of my mother night and day until December 10th, 2015. That’s the day she took her last breath in front of me.
Before she died, she told me that all she wanted was to see me become something.
With her words as my motivation I went back to school, a month following the start of the second semester of junior year, and got right to business. The nights still held the same sadness but my shoulders could never be higher and my façade could never be stronger throughout the day. Junior year, I achieved my personal highest GPA, all while taking care of my brother and sister with little help from my uncle, who is now my guardian.
I was always afraid of failure which made it a lot harder for me to succeed. After seeing what it took to be a son, a brother, and a student all at the same time, I now find success a byproduct of happiness.