Storyteller Grieves Mother and Brother
Part One
By Luke Schmaltz, VOICES Newsletter Editor
Alix Maria Taulbee is a professional storyteller, working as a creative designer, a writer, and a filmmaker.
Taulbee is also a student practitioner of American Kenpo Karate. She trains with her husband, Ian Lauer, at his school in Zanesville, Ohio. Taulbee shares how this pursuit, along with other strategies, has helped her navigate the difficulties of grief.
When she was 17, Taulbee lost her brother, Damien, to an accidental overdose. Then in July 2022, barely a month away from her 30th birthday, Alix’s mother died from a rare form of cancer.
Dual tragedies have given her unique insight into the short- and long-term dynamics of grief. Despite the anguish, she faces life’s challenges head-on in the pursuit of personal growth, happiness, community, and understanding.
Double Trouble
“I believe Damien started using around the age of 14, though I’m not exactly sure since he was a decade older than me,” Taulbee begins. “It’s a tale as old as time – he was introduced to something, which led to other substances, specifically heroin.”
“I lost Damien in 2009 when he was 27. That was the same year my mom was diagnosed with cancer for the first time. I had never experienced grief like that, although I lost a grandparent on my dad’s side of the family years before.”
“Suddenly, all hands were on deck to take care of my mom," she explains. “Not only did she almost die from the grief, but also from the cancer she was battling. I was in a constant state of anxiety, of not knowing if I was going to lose her too.”
Like a Movie
After Damien died, Taulbee was forced to face the harsh fact of human mortality. “The first week after he passed, I felt as if any remnants of innocence in me were completely shattered,” she says. “I was numb. When my mother and I got the news, she collapsed and I just stood there, dumbfounded. At first, I felt almost obligated to cry, but then, of course, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I’ll never forget my mother’s cries of grief and seeing her collapse.”
“We were living in California at the time, so my dad, along with other family members came out to be with us during those first few weeks. I remember I took a very transformative car ride from LA with one of my uncles to be with family in Arizona. At one point, he asked me, ‘What do you need?’ For some reason, what came to my mind was, Phantom of the Opera.”
“I had only seen the movie once before, but I was somehow able to equate the story to my brother. The Phantom was a man with good intentions and, like my brother, had a brilliant gift for music. But he was so misunderstood by others. All he wanted to do was love, but sometimes his love hurt people.”
“That first week, I must have watched Phantom of the Opera half a dozen times. To this day, it has a forever place in my heart. I recently got married, and I walked down the aisle to a song from the movie soundtrack (“All I Ask of You”). The song describes my husband and how he reminds me, the darkness is behind me. I’m a firm believer that we don't move on from our loved one's death, but we move forward.”
Timely Perspective
“I am now 32,” Taulbee says, “Which is five years older than Damien was when he died, which is a strange feeling because he was 10 years older than me.”
Taulbee keeps close tabs on her grief, noting how it has never left, yet how it seems to morph around her as she moves forward in life. “I see how I could have easily gone down a similar path as Damien. I lived in California for a decade, working in the film industry for many years. I was constantly surrounded by toxicity, in an environment highly charged with peer pressure to do certain things to get the attention of influential people. I’m not perfect, but I believe I was able to maintain a sense of who I am at the core. Especially when I moved from LA and got to make new memories there years later dating my then-boyfriend, now-husband.”
Avoiding dangerous substances is hard-wired into Taulbee’s resolve. “Last February, I had ACL reconstructive surgery after suffering a 90 percent tear performing a Kenpo technique incorrectly during my Orange Belt test. I know from countless stories that a sports injury, coupled with an opioid prescription for pain is often what leads someone down the path of chronic substance use.”
“I barely used any of the Oxycodone pills they prescribed me for pain. I am very proud of myself for that. Simply being aware that I could easily slip into a bad pattern helped me avoid doing so. I don’t like having to take something in order to feel better.”
“My approach to life is all about being aware of its dangers, seeing the ledge, dancing on the edge, but not trying to balance one-legged on the edge,” Taulbee explains.
Enduring Gifts
Taulbee acknowledges her resolve as a gift from both her mother and her brother. “2024 was the most transformative year of my life for many reasons. They showed me it was okay for me to be taken care of now. It’s okay for me to rest, get enough sleep, and ask for help. This is important because when my mother had cancer for the second time, I was her caretaker. I had to become the queen of poker face so she wouldn’t see that I was scared of the inevitable.”
“I saw my mother die. Although she gave me life and brought me into this world, I had to be the one to see her take her last breath.”
“It got to a point in her cancer battle when we had to acknowledge the fact that death was coming. When you get used to seeing the Grim Reaper every day, you’re no longer scared of death. You’re able to look at him and say, ‘Ha ha.” Funny sword.’ I’m no longer scared of death.
Tough Conversations
“About a month-and-a-half before she died, we had a good heart-to-heart talk. I said, ‘Mom, we need to admit and talk about the fact that you are not going to be a little old lady when my kids are here.’”
“She said, ‘No, I don’t want to hear that.’ However, the conversation continued, and we identified the things that I could trust - I could trust my fiancé. I could trust that if the result of her struggle shattered me, but it was what was best for her, then I could trust God and the universe.”
“A month-and-a-half later, on a rainy Saturday morning, I took her in for her weekly blood transfusion. It was like a scene from a movie.”
“The nurse pulled me aside and explained that my mom had a stroke. Two days after she was admitted to the Neuro ICU, she called me, and I don’t regret this one bit; I said, ‘When are you coming home, mommy?’ She said, ‘I don’t know.’ It was all happening faster than I could grasp.”
“They couldn’t stop the bleeding in her brain and a week later she was gone. That week before she passed, I went through all the stages of grief.”
The Last Dance
“I met with my father and my grandma [and other family members], and we talked about how we were going to say goodbye. I decided that I was simply going to talk to her about all sorts of things. Despite her condition on that day, she made it through another night. My brother, Lance, suggested that I go back in and talk to her one more time. I told him that I was spent. He said, ‘You’re going to regret it if you don’t go see her one more time.’”
“By then, she was practically in a coma. It was bizarre watching my mother have seizures and go in and out of consciousness. I remember the night before she passed, feeling like something bad was going to happen. I desperately wanted my mom’s snuggles. I wanted to feel her again. I tried to lay my head on her in the hospital bed, but she was so frail. When I woke up on the Sunday morning of the day she passed, and I don’t know if it was how the blankets were around me, but it felt like her snuggles. I’m forever thankful for that feeling.”
“Soon after, one of my aunts called me and said I needed to get to the hospital immediately. When I went into her room, I just knew it was time. I knew I wasn’t going to leave until she was gone. As I held her hand, I noticed it was the only part of her body that remained a normal skin color. I hated that I had to see her die.”
“I’ve been having a lot of flashbacks, almost like I have undiagnosed PTSD. Yet, over the last year, I realized the reason why I held her hand that day is because I was handing her off to Damien. He was the best hugger in the universe, and he was the type of person who would be there, waiting.”
“I’ve also struggled with the fact that I was just shy of 30 when she passed,” Taulbee concludes. “Yet it hit me this past year – she knew me for that long, and for that, I have peace in my heart.”