The Night a Part of Me Died

April 30, 2006. Midnight.

I woke up in the same bed I’d always shared with my mom. Dad was away. Nothing felt off at first, just the usual warmth of being close to her. I was the last born, after all—sticking by her side wasn’t just habit, it was home. But that night, home became something else.

I don’t know if my body sensed it before my mind did, but something felt… still. Too still. I don’t remember the exact moment realization hit, but at some point, I knew—she was gone. Right next to me. Just like that.

I didn’t cry. Not because I was strong. Not because I was holding it in. But because my mind wouldn’t let me process what just happened. How do you even react to something like that? One moment, everything is normal. The next, the person who gave you life is lifeless beside you. My world should’ve shattered, but instead, it froze.

And I guess, in some ways, I froze with it.

Death Ain't a Big Deal to Me No More

Ever since that night, death stopped feeling like the monster people make it out to be. People talk about losing loved ones like it’s this earth-shattering thing, and maybe it is for them. But for me? My first thought is always, Me too. I lost my mom. It is what it is.

It’s not that I don’t understand grief—I lived it before I even knew what grief was. But when something that heavy happens so early, it’s like your heart builds a callus. You hear about someone passing, and instead of that sharp sting most people feel, all you get is a dull echo. No shock. No tears. Just, yeah, people die.

And that’s the part of me I don’t like.

Because deep down, I know that ain't normal. I know death is supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to shake you. But for me, it’s just another fact of life. Like rain falling. Like the sun setting. Everybody gotta go someday, so what’s the hype?

Maybe Bringing Life Into This World Will Change Me

I think about this sometimes. About whether anything could crack this numbness. About whether anything could make me feel again, the way other people seem to. And the only thing I keep coming back to is life.

Bringing life into this world.

J. Cole said he became more sensitive after having kids. Like suddenly, the world wasn’t just about him anymore—it was about them. He had something to protect. Something to lose. And maybe that’s the key. Maybe the only way I’ll truly feel the weight of life again is by creating it. By holding a piece of me in my hands and realizing that, for the first time in years, I actually care.

I don’t know when or how that’ll happen. Maybe it will, maybe it won’t. But for now, I just keep moving forward, carrying this quiet indifference like a scar I never asked for. Maybe one day, something—or someone—will remind me how to feel again.

Until then, I just keep living. Because that’s all I know how to do.