My mom almost died in July.
But that’s not the end of the story.
Before you read, I’d like to provide a content warning for brief mentions of injury. Please take care of yourself.
Happy 2023. You made it to another year. Do you know anybody who didn’t? Or almost didn’t? I do — and she’s my mom. I’m offering up a condensed version of the last six months because it’s one heck of a story. So strap in, put on your goggles, and get ready to pull on the little orange golf ball — it’s going to be quite the ride.
It was July 23rd, 2022. My mom took me skydiving in Davis, California, for my 21st birthday. Mind you, I didn’t turn 21 until August 30th, but we wanted to celebrate before I went back to university to start my senior year of undergrad.
This was going to be my mom’s fifth time skydiving. She’d taken my older brother, as well as her brother and my grandma. Taking me up 13,000 feet into the sky to commemorate my newfound adulthood wasn’t anything to bat an eye at; it was simply following tradition.
When we’d parked at the skydiving school, it was like any other Saturday. My mom had driven, we’d listened to our curated mother/son Spotify playlist on the way there, and we’d watched as California passed us by from the car’s windows.
