Hi everyone, my name is Kanisha, and today I’m living through the worst pain of my life. I just lost my mom — my best friend, my everything.

I want to start from the beginning. On September 25, 2025, it was just me and my mom, talking like we always do and making plans for my daughter’s 12th birthday party. We were going to take her to the Ninja Kids Park that weekend, but those plans never happened.

That Friday, I ended up in the hospital from a heat stroke and was diagnosed with rhabdomyolysis in my leg. The very next day, my mom fainted, fell, and hit her head. She dislocated one of the discs in her neck and was rushed to the same hospital as me. Later, she was transferred to Southlake, and then to the University of Chicago, where she stayed for a week before being moved to a rehabilitation center to regain movement in her legs and arms.

Every single day we talked on the phone, praying and encouraging each other. My mom was my best friend — we were always together — but those calls made it feel like she was right beside me.

After rehab, everything went downhill. They gave my mom strong pain meds — OxyContin, Hydrocodone, Xanax, Tramadol, and more — and then tried to send her to a homeless shelter. She called me, scared and upset. I told her she didn’t belong there, that she needed to come home. She left and stayed in a hotel for one night. She felt uncomfortable, so I stayed on the phone with her all night just to make sure she was okay.

The next day, October 10, she made it back home to Gary. I screamed with joy when she told me. We planned to meet up Monday. On Sunday morning, we talked for an hour. She told me she was walking to Dollar Tree for food and snacks. I told her not to walk, but she said it was good for her — that it helped prevent blood clots. That was my mom — strong, stubborn, and independent. She said, “Love you, Buttercup,” and I said, “Love you too, Mom.”

That was the last time I ever heard her voice.

On Monday morning, around 9:41 a.m., my cousin called. The third time I finally answered, she said the words that broke me in half:

“She’s gone, Kanisha.”

I couldn’t believe it. I told her to go wake my mom up, but she said, “We already tried, baby. Your mom is gone.”

My heart shattered. My best friend, the woman who raised me, prayed with me, laughed with me — was gone. I can’t explain the pain I feel. I’ve cried every day, asking God why He took her, why I didn’t get to hug her or tell her I love her one last time. My mom was Superwoman in my eyes. No matter how hard life got, she always smiled, always told me to pray to God and keep going.

Now I’m left trying to plan a funeral I never imagined I’d have to plan this soon. I’m asking for help to give my mother the farewell she deserves. Anything you can give — donations, prayers, or kind words — would mean the world to me.

If you still have your parents, please call them, hug them, tell them you love them. You never know when it’ll be your last chance.

Rest in peace, Momma.

I love and miss you so much, but I know you’re right by my side — watching over me.