On December 21, 2021, my mom, a vibrant 46-year-old woman, took a Pfizer COVID-19 vaccine—not because she wanted to, but because Canada’s border rules demanded it for her to see our family. She never made that trip. Instead, she seized that same day, her body betraying her with no prior history of epilepsy. In a church parking lot, tears in her eyes, she told me, “This vaccine is going to kill me.” I said, “Don’t be sorry—they forced you.” She was right. Ten weeks later, an aneurysm tore through her brain. Ten days after that, she was gone. This is her story, our loss, and a call to see the truth.
My mom was healthy, full of life, no neurological red flags. But shortly after that Pfizer shot, a violent seizure shook her world, requiring her brought back to life the same day. She wasn’t the same after—foggy, struggling, her mind and body slipping. She sensed the end, telling me she didn’t feel right, her thoughts harder to grasp. I was drowning too, crushed by the world’s weight, unable to see how fast she was fading. We debated a doctor during our last moments together, but who could we trust? The same system that pushed the shot failed her. We held off, hoping she’d stabilize. She didn’t.
On March 1, 2022, she wrote a letter—a loving, motherly note to her friend’s son, pouring out her heart. It also carried her dread: she needed a doctor, felt time running out. The next day, March 2, a brain aneurysm struck—likely ruptured, a merciless blow. She fought for 10 days, found unresponsive on March 12, legally declared dead March 13. Her body was kept alive until March 17 for organ donation—“good” organs, they said, a bitter irony for a woman the system let die. She was a month shy of 47.
When I asked doctors about a vaccine reaction, the truth peeked through their cracks. One, tight-lipped, said he “was not allowed to speak on that”—a gag order, plain as day. Another admitted it was “a great possibility” the shot triggered her spiral. They ruled out a fall or impact as the aneurysm’s cause—no trauma, just a body broken after that needle. A hospital letter, dated just before March 2, promised “something important.” I chased it—nothing. Lost, like her life in their machine.
The Canada border mandate wasn’t just a rule—it was a death sentence. My mom took the shot for love, to hug family, not for herself. She paid with everything. Her organs “saved lives,” they claimed, but not how they sell it—not immunity, but a harvest from her stolen future. She predicted it all, her warning as clear as her love in that March 1 letter. Pharma cashed in—Pfizer’s billions piled up while families like mine buried our hearts.
I’ve hugged others who’ve lost loved ones to these shots—seizures, brain bleeds, sudden deaths, stories echoing hers. On X, I’ve found them: “Dad, 52, Pfizer, seizure, aneurysm, dead ‘22”; “Sister, 39, seizure, brain bleed, gone.” We cry together, our grief a chorus the system ignores. I asked why; one doctor hinted at truth, another was muzzled. Both point to a machine that profits while we bleed.
My mom’s name isn’t a hashtag yet—I’m still choosing one, maybe #MomsWarning, to carry her voice. She wasn’t a statistic; she was a mother, a fighter, a prophet they couldn’t silence. This isn’t about “anti-vax” noise—it’s about lives lost to a choice that wasn’t hers. I’m building a record—her story, others’ cases, a ledger of loss—to wake America up. Pharma’s grip is tight, but our truth is louder. She told me it’d kill her. I won’t let that fade.
