April 24, 2014

Before my basketball game, my mother came and gave me a hug. She hadn’t been doing well lately, I was old enough to know that; but I didn’t know why. My father, brother, grandparents and uncle were all there to watch me play. I hadn’t had this many eyes on me in ages. This was the division final, the championship game. It was grade eight, my last chance to bring home a victory for my school. I almost walked into the change room with my jewellery on, so when my teammate reminded me, I quickly ran back to my mother. I took off my silver earrings, a gift from mom, and handed them to her. Like always, she put them in her pocket and gave me another hug. This one felt different.

As the game progressed, I noticed my family members disappear one by one, until just my uncle and brother remained. I was panicked, and my team was beat. We lost the game. My mother was hospitalised, and I wasn’t allowed to visit her. I heard the word depression float around, but I didn’t understand why. She died a few months later, and I still don’t know what happened that night.