I was diagnosed with clinical depression in my twenties. For years I’ve gone through ups and downs, tried different medications, and worked with therapists and psychiatrists. I’ve even been hospitalized. All of this has helped me reach a healthier, more stable place emotionally.
This type of depression is often called high-functioning depression. I manage to work, run errands, and take care of my family, even though depression is present. While my condition is well managed, the heaviness still returns from time to time. Sometimes there is an obvious trigger; other times it catches me completely by surprise. The body remembers even when we don’t. I looked at my calendar and it all makes sense.
Today marks thirty years since my mom died.
On July 30, 1996, at 1:20 am, the phone rang. I flew out of bed because I didn’t want the noise to wake up my five-week-old son, Julian. When the doctor told me Mom died, I screamed and threw the phone across the room. My husband grabbed the phone and talked to the doctor. Once he hung up, he held me as I sobbed uncontrollably.
Losing my mom changed who I am. I never imagined she wouldn’t get to see my sons grow up. Her absence over the past thirty years has left a deep emptiness in me. When I see friends celebrate their parents’ birthdays online, I feel jealous.
Do they realize how lucky they are to still have a parent at their age?
I would do anything just to talk to my mom again. There’s so much I wish I could ask her. At 28, I didn’t know enough to ask the right questions.
What was the “little pill” you took when you were upset? Years later, I figured out it was for anxiety or depression. Knowing about her condition might have helped me with my own struggles.
Mom and Julian
Tell me about my brother. She almost never talked about him, except once. After Julian was born, we went to her house. I saw her looking at my son with a sparkle in her eye. “He looks just like Ronnie.” She smiled so brightly as she held him and sang her “Loo loo” song. That was the most she ever said to me about my brother.
I remember the endless sweet tea, her house dresses, the $20 bills she would send me to my college dorm (and they always came at the perfect time), and how she never left home without lipstick. And her laugh! We would laugh at the silliest things. And when she shook with silent tears of laughter, it was pure joy.
If your mom is still here, hug her tight. Be grateful for her presence in your life.
I would give anything for just one more hug.
Lydia Cano Campos
June 8, 1932 – July 30, 1996
Gonzalo Campos
January 10, 1927 – October 7, 2007
