Am I? “Am I still a Mama?” That thought ran through my head on Mother’s Day and caused a pain so intense I don’t know how I survived it. And wished I hadn’t. The answer to it is what gave me the name for this journal. Am I still a Mama? Sort of. I have no living children. But I was Mama for 27 years to the most kind-hearted young man any parent would feel Blessed to have. So I was a Mama, but now those activities have been stilled. So I am the still mama.

My son, Benjamin Wyatt Mahon left me behind on April 19th, 2020. A healthy young man, full of life and dreams. Until he wasn’t.

My journey into terror started nine weeks ago in the middle of the night. I was sleeping soundly when I heard banging on my bedroom window and saw a flashlight accompanied by “Charlotte County Sheriff Deputy, please come to the door.” The voice was gruff and unfriendly. Authoritative. I didn’t immediately think “Oh no, my world is about to be shattered,” like most parents would. The loud fierce voice of the officer brought immediate trouble to mind. Something bad was happening in the neighborhood, an escaped convict or something?

I ran to the front door in my pajamas, turned on the light and peeked out. It was a black police officer in uniform. I opened the door and he said “Ms Mott?” I said “Yes.” He said “I’m here to let you know Benjamin Mahon is deceased.” I said “No, that’s my only child, he can’t be.” My tone was flat and reasonable. I knew he was wrong. I invited him in to clear up the misunderstanding. I didn’t feel pain or really comprehend what he was saying.

The officer stepped inside the door and repeated what he’d first said in a direct and no-nonsense manner. No kindness about him, just an abrupt statement. I crumpled to the floor, just folded up. I couldn’t get a breath. I pushed my face flat to the floor and gasped for air for a few minutes. I couldn’t breathe. Like the time Sally threw me and I landed on my chest, knocking the breath out of me. I vaguely remember arguing with him and kept telling him that no, he was wrong, he said it was true. “What happened?” I asked, and he said he didn’t know he would get the investigator on the phone.

He called someone from my cell phone and handed the phone to me. I didn’t know what to say, I felt so confused. I said “Hello, this is Ben’s mother.” The investigator told me Ben died in his sleep (at Marciana’s house) and they had tried CPR but it didn’t work, that he was deceased. He said they were testing him for Covid because he had the symptoms and would do an investigation and were sending the body to the Sarasota Medical Examiners office and someone from there would contact me. We would get covid testing results in 4-5 days.

The cop turned to leave, then he asked if I was alone, I told him “Yes, my son and I live here, but he’s at his girlfriend’s house.” He asked if I wanted the chaplain, I told him yes. He called the chaplain but they told him the chaplain couldn’t come because of Covid-19. He asked if I had a pastor, I told him no. I was sitting on the floor praying out loud. He said “Do you have anyone you can call?” I said “Yes, my sister lives a few streets over.” I found my phone and tried calling her over and over and over but couldn’t get an answer.

He asked where she lived and I told him “On Clay Street, like exactly where my house is, but on Clay.” He looked confused. I couldn’t remember her address. He said he would go get her. I went to my computer and googled her address and wrote it down for him. He said he’d be right back.

I was glad he was gone. I calmly went to my room and got dressed. I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I emptied the kitchen garbage. I felt relieved I hadn’t left a sink full of dishes. Having done those useless tasks, I sat down on the couch and waited.

He came back in just a few minutes. I offered him coffee or water, he declined. He asked if I wanted his pastor to contact me the next day and I said yes. Cynthia and Perry came in the door then and he stayed for a minute and left. I don’t remember talking to them except they asked me if I wanted them to call Mama and Daddy. I said yes. We discussed waiting until daylight so they wouldn’t take off in the dark. They can’t drive at night.

I remember Mama and Daddy getting there but I don’t remember talking to them either. I later learned Mama cooked us all breakfast and we ate. I have no memory of that or the following three days. Somehow we wound up at Mama & Daddy’s house and I’m still here, and so are C&P eight days later. Now I’m going to sleep. Or try to. It suddenly felt important to write down details for some reason. Almost like I have to remember so I can tell Ben when I see him.

**** perspective from a year in: I think this was when my body disassociated from my mind in order to protect vital organs. The next three days have still not returned to my memory. The next few months are very foggy.