By Lily Braden

I am afraid I will mourn for a mother who is not there. 

I am afraid I will mourn for a mother who stays up too late, who enjoys daytime television, who has long, drawn-out conversations with the dog. 

I am afraid I will mourn for a mother who borrows my glasses, a mother who loves her flowers, a mother who has a little blue car. 

I will not mourn for a mother that I do not know, a mother I have yet to meet. I will not mourn for a mother who is attached to tubes, a mother who is unable to open her eyes, unable to hear my voice. I will not mourn for a mother who had to lie on the floor, all alone, presumably dead to the world. It is a miracle in her case. I will not mourn for a mother who looks at me and cries, whose heart is shallow, whose mouth is dry. I will not mourn for a mother.

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Lily Braden is a junior studying English Education in the College of Arts and Sciences and the School of Education. She was born and raised in Portland, Oregon. Lily is passionate about educating her peers on mental health, planning OAD events, and working with first-year students.