March 21, 2025
It’s sad how one piece of mail can ruin your entire day.
I’ve been in a good mood since MOMCC’s ‘Silence The Violence” Mall Walk a few days ago. MOMCC’s Co-Founder Malissa Thomas-St.Clair and her team dedicate so much time and effort to helping mothers of murdered children in Columbus and making our community safe, so it was nice to see so many turn out to support the cause. Coming together on one accord always makes you feel better.
But one piece of mail has taken the air out of my sail.
A few months ago, I wrote about my triggers concerning John’s death. I explained how I’m taken back to the horrible night of July 28, 2024, whenever I receive a hearing notice in the mail.
When I think back on that night, I remember sitting in my home office when the Eleven o’clock news came on TV. The anchor stated it was a violent night with multiple shootings. She went on to say, “Police responded to four separate shooting incidents within one hour, starting around 10 p.m. leaving one victim dead.”
I shook my head as I stood up and left the room thinking, “This world is getting crazier by the day. I hate guns. Gun violence has got to stop.”
At that time, I had no idea the person who died that horrible night was my son. A mother’s worst nightmare had just begun without me even knowing;
I was that mother.
Fast forward to today. I checked my mailbox as I do every day. It’s not a hearing notice this time. But there is one piece of mail addressed to John. John hasn’t lived with us for five years so whenever mail comes for him, it catches me off guard, especially now.
I looked at it and thought, what is this?
I turned it over and saw it was a Driver’s license expiration notice. His driver’s license expired twenty days ago, on his last birthday.
My eyes began to fill up with tears.
Why does a simple piece of mail for John make me cry?
Because it’s a reminder of what we have lost forever.
It’s a reminder that John is no longer here to drive a car, pick up scrap metal to turn in for a quick buck, or take a long drive in the country with nothing but time on his hands, which he so often loved to do.
I remember the last time I saw John drive away with his daughter Kammy in the back seat of his car, looking out her window and grinning from ear to ear as she waved goodbye to us.
That was just three weeks before he was murdered.
It’s a memory I’ll cherish forever.
Tears are now streaming down my face as I walk back to the house. This one piece of mail is another reminder my son is no longer here to do the simple things in life.
One Step forward. Two steps back.
Am I the only one who feels like this when dealing with grief?