Superstar Mariah Carey disclosed that her mother, Patricia Carey, and sister, Alison Carey, died on the same day, causing an unimaginable sadness.
The Grammy Award-winning musician confirmed that two of her close relatives had passed away over the weekend in a message she sent.
Carey said, “I lost my mother this past weekend, and it broke my heart,” according to PEOPLE.
“Unfortunately, my sister passed away on the same day due to a tragic turn of events.”
It goes without saying that going through such a deep loss is an almost unequaled experience, but Carey did thank God she was able to spend time with her mother before she passed away.
The singer of All I Want For Christmas expressed gratitude for having spent the final week of her life with her mother.
“During this impossible time, I appreciate everyone’s love, support, and respect for my privacy.”
The causes of mother Patricia’s and sister Alison’s deaths remain unknown as of the time of writing. Prior to having daughters Alison and Mariah and son Morgan with Alfred Roy Carey, Patricia was a Juilliard-trained opera singer and voice instructor. When Mariah was three years old, her parents got divorced.
The We Belong Together hitmaker and her mother reportedly had a tumultuous relationship, according to PEOPLE.
“Like many aspects of my life, my journey with my mother has been full of contradictions and competing realities,” Mariah Carey said in her 2020 memoir, The Meaning of Mariah Carey. It’s always been a rainbow of feelings rather than just black and white.
Also strained was the singer’s relationship with Alison, at least as of the release of her previously mentioned memoir. Carey stated that it was “emotionally and physically safer for me not to have any contact” with her siblings in the book’s pages.
We are sending Mariah Carey our love and strength. Coping with the death of a loved one is really tough, but having two die away on the same day?
I can’t get 2 hours of sleep at night because of My never-helping husband. Now I decided to…
I’ve always imagined motherhood as a beautiful journey filled with tender moments and sweet lullabies. But reality hit hard after the birth of our baby girl. Our little angel is my world, yet the sleepless nights and endless chores quickly became a nightmare.
My husband, who was supposed to be my partner in this journey, turned out to be more of an absentee father. Whenever I asked for his help, he’d dismiss me with, “Let me relax, my paternity leave is so short.”
Our baby girl wouldn’t sleep for more than an hour at a time. Each night, I found myself rocking her back to sleep, pacing the floor while my husband lounged on the couch, engrossed in his TV shows. The sleep deprivation became so severe that I started nodding off while cooking or doing laundry.
The Breaking Point
Last Saturday was supposed to be a special day. We had planned a family gathering to introduce our baby to everyone. It was a beautiful day filled with laughter and joy, but my exhaustion overshadowed everything. At one point, I felt so weak that I literally passed out from sheer fatigue. When I came to, I was expecting concern, maybe even some empathy from my husband. Instead, he was annoyed. His main concern was that I had embarrassed him, making it seem like he wasn’t taking care of us.
I couldn’t even muster a response. I was too exhausted to argue, so I dragged myself to bed, leaving him to his grievances. The next morning, he ignored both me and the baby, sulking because, in his mind, I didn’t care about his feelings since I didn’t stay up to discuss the previous day’s events. That was the moment I realized I was done. I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt a surge of anger and was on the brink of a breakdown. I was ready to confront him, to let out all my frustration, but just then, the doorbell rang.
An Unexpected Visitor
The doorbell rang, breaking the tense silence in our home. I went to open it, expecting a neighbor or a delivery. Instead, I saw my mother standing there, a look of concern etched on her face. She had come unannounced, probably sensing that something was wrong. She took one look at my haggard appearance and the disarray in our home and knew something was terribly amiss.
Slowly but surely, things began to improve. I started to feel like myself again, no longer drowning in exhaustion and resentment. Our baby girl thrived in the loving environment, and our home became a place of peace and joy once more.
This experience taught me the importance of standing up for myself and seeking help when needed. It also showed me the strength of a mother’s love, capable of bridging even the deepest divides. While our journey is far from over, I am hopeful that we will continue to grow and support each other as a family, one step at a time.
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