Holy Supper, kidney stones, and the night my mom chose LLDM over me

I've told this story for years like it was funny.

Like it was just this crazy story about the time I had kidney stones and my 14-year-old brother had to drive us home from the hospital.

But I'm starting to realize there was never actually anything funny about it.

I was 18 years old. It was August 14 — Holy Supper. Anyone who grew up in LLDM knows what August 14 meant. Holy Supper wasn't treated like just another church service. You didn't miss it. You didn't question it. It was sacred. You were there to receive your blessing. That day, my mom kept telling me to get ready. I kept telling her I didn't feel right. At first, it was a deep pain in my stomach. I thought maybe it would pass. It didn't. As it got closer to the time she needed to leave, the pain became unbearable. I was sweating, holding my stomach, and eventually begging her to take me to the hospital. She didn't believe me. She told me I was being rebellious and that I was just trying to get out of going to church. Then she told me something I've never forgotten: Nothing in this world was going to take away her blessing of attending the Holy Supper. Nothing. Apparently, that included me.

I remember sitting there in horrible pain watching my mom continue getting ready for church. That's one of the parts that stays with me. Watching someone get dressed. Watching them gather their things. Watching them prepare to walk out the door while you're right in front of them begging for help. At some point, you realize: She's actually going to leave me like this. And she did. My cousin came to pick her up, and my mom left for Holy Supper. I told my two younger brothers I couldn't take the pain anymore and needed to go to the hospital. One brushed me off. My youngest brother didn't. He was 14. He said he would come with me.

So somehow, I drove myself to the hospital. I honestly don't know how I did it. I remember gripping the steering wheel while the pain came in waves. I was sweating so badly that it felt like something was seriously wrong with my body. My vision was getting blurry. I ran red lights. At that point, all I could think was: Just get to the hospital. We made it. Kidney stones. The pain got so severe they gave me morphine.

A few hours later, they were ready to discharge me, but there was a problem. I had driven myself there and now had morphine in my system. They told me I couldn't drive home. Someone else needed to pick me up. And I lied. With the doctor, nurse, and my little brother standing there, I told them my mom and cousin were outside waiting for us. They weren't. Nobody was outside. Nobody was coming. Looking back, that lie bothers me almost as much as anything else. Maybe I was embarrassed. Maybe I didn't want these strangers realizing that my mother had left me while I was begging to go to the hospital because Holy Supper was more important. Maybe I was still protecting her.Or maybe some part of me just needed to pretend that somebody was waiting for me.

They discharged me. As we walked through the hospital lobby, my brother kept asking where my mom was. Eventually I told him the truth. She wasn't there. Nobody was coming. And I couldn't drive. Which meant my 14-year-old brother was going to have to drive us home. He had never driven a car in his life. I still remember the look on his face. He was terrified. But he got behind the wheel anyway. Think about that. Fourteen years old. Your older brother has just been treated at the hospital, he's on morphine, there are no adults coming to help, and now somebody is handing you the keys. I sat in the passenger seat and taught him how to drive while we were driving home. When to brake. When to turn. How to handle the intersections. The hills. The stoplights. Everything. Somehow, we made it home. And I remember feeling so proud of him. He was scared out of his mind, but when I needed someone, he showed up.

But now that I'm older, there's another feeling underneath that pride. He never should've had to. A 14-year-old child should not have been responsible for getting his older brother home safely from the hospital. There were adults in our lives. I had a mother. She just wasn't there. She was at church. Getting her blessing.

Later that night, she finally came home. I told her what happened. I told her I had passed kidney stones. She barely reacted.

For years afterward, I turned the whole thing into a funny story. "Remember when I had kidney stones and my little brother had to drive us home?" I'd laugh. Other people would laugh. And humor made it easier because if it was just a crazy story, I didn't have to think about what actually happened. I didn't have to call it abandonment. I didn't have to admit how much it hurt. The kidney stones eventually passed. That part didn't. What stayed with me was knowing that I looked at my own mother while I was in some of the worst physical pain I had ever experienced and begged her for help... and she chose the church.

Growing up in LLDM, we were taught that God came first. The church came first. The Apostle came first. The rules, services, responsibilities, and "blessings" came first. And sacrificing other things for the church was treated like proof of your faithfulness. But what happens when the thing you're sacrificing is your own child?

Maybe I really was rebellious. Maybe I caused too many problems. Maybe I was asking for too much. That's one of the things religious conditioning can do. You can be abandoned and still somehow wonder whether you deserved it.

Looking back now, I can finally say something that 18-year-old me couldn't: I was sick. I was scared. I was begging my mother for help. I should never have had to prove that my pain was real enough for her to choose me. And my 14-year-old brother should never have been forced to become the adult because the adults in our lives chose religion over us.

That night wasn't really about kidney stones. It wasn't even really about Holy Supper. It was about learning exactly where I stood. The church came first. Her blessing came first. And I didn't.

I think that's why I'm sharing this here. Because I know some of you probably have your own version of this story.

The kidney stones passed. The abandonment didn't. And I'm finally starting to understand the difference.