Dim Light.

Mikayla Mills, Beyond the System Writing Contest

It was just a normal Thursday. I went to school, did some homework, and then finally climbed into bed to relax. I was watching One Piece, letting the colors light up my face, trying to escape into something fun and familiar. And then… my phone rang.

It was a FaceTime from my sister.

I remember rolling my eyes a little, thinking she was just going to bother me like she always does when I’m chilling. But as soon as I picked up and saw her face, I knew something was wrong. Her voice was shaking. And then she said the words that would change my life forever:

“Mommy had a seizure.”

Everything stopped. My heart dropped into my stomach. My hands started shaking. The first thing I asked—almost begged—was if her heart was still beating. Was she okay? Was she going to make it? But my sister didn’t know. She didn’t have the answers. Not yet.

I got up in a panic. I told my younger brother. I was trying so hard to stay calm, to believe she was still alive. I put my phone down and told myself over and over: She’s okay. She’s strong. She’s still breathing. She has to be.

I tried to go back to watching my show, but I wasn’t really there. My mind was somewhere else. All I could see was her—my mom. Her laugh, her cooking, her hugs, the way she used to dance around the kitchen. All of it just hit me like a wave. I kept thinking, Please, don’t take her away. Not now. Not while I still need her.

I was only sixteen. I wasn’t ready.

And then... the second call came. Not even fifteen minutes later. My sister’s voice was different this time—more broken, more real. And she said it.

“She died.”

Those words… they didn’t even make sense at first. I froze. Everything inside me went silent. I told my brother, but it was like I wasn’t even the one speaking. I couldn’t feel my legs. I couldn’t breathe.

I walked over to tell my grandmother, and her scream… I’ll never forget it. But even then, I felt like I was outside of my own body. Like I was watching all of this happen to someone else.

Then my dad called. And he confirmed it. He told me what I already knew but couldn’t accept.

She was gone.

That’s when I broke. I cried in front of my brother, and he cried too. The pain was like nothing I’ve ever felt. I didn’t just lose a parent—I lost my best friend. I lost the person who raised me, who loved me more than anything in the world. The one who was supposed to be there for all the moments that hadn’t even happened yet—my graduation, my wedding, my kids.

She was supposed to be there for everything. And now, she’s just… not.

Something inside me shattered that night. Something I don’t think will ever fully heal. Grief isn’t something that goes away—it just becomes part of you. It dulls a little with time, but the ache is always there. You just learn how to carry it.

My mom wasn’t perfect—none of us are—but she loved fiercely. She loved us fiercely. And that love, even though she’s gone, is still here. I feel it in the way I push myself now. In the way I love my siblings. In the way I try to hold onto her memory, every single day.

I miss her every moment. And I will never stop missing her.

Mommy, if you can hear me—I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to make you proud. You won’t get to see me grow up, but everything I do, I do with you in my heart. I love you. Forever.