My Old Friend… Death.
This is a reflective story in real time of me grappling with death herself. transmuting both the beauty and the pain of grief and loss..
I once met death—between this world and the next. She asked, “Why are you here, my child?” I asked, “Why is everyone crying and wailing?” She said, “Because they’re mourning what they no longer have.” I looked back at a sea of faceless figures, everyone except one. She was a small Black girl, maybe 15 years older than me. She looked at me with a gentle face and spirit, reminding me of Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz—except she was missing her red slippers and blue dress.
After meeting her, I was greeted by a gentle giant in a delicate cushion box. He looked asleep but lifeless. Soon, we left the church and went home. My mother gently tucked me into bed. I fell asleep quickly, only to wake an hour later to that same gentle giant sitting between my knees and tiny chest, smiling and leaning over as he often did.
Uncle W, I smiled through tears. “Why were you in that box? Why didn’t you speak to me?” “My time is done here, my sweet,” he said. “I’m old, and my soul must move on to the next part of my journey. I’ll miss your hugs.” I choked up. “Those hugs will always be with you,” he said, pointing to my heart. He kissed my forehead, and I drifted back to sleep.
I once faced death—between this world and the next. She asked why I was here, where my parents were. I told her they’d be home when I returned. No worries, my child.
When I got home, the house was cold and silent, like a pin drop. My mother called my name. I poured a glass of water to delay the news, knowing what she’d say. After I drank, I went into the family room.
“Hi, Mom and Dad! Where were you this morning?” I asked.
“We were at the hospital,” she replied, stopping short, looking at my dad, who had a detached expression, a cigarette burning between his fingers. I asked cautiously, “What happened?”
“Your Uncle D passed away this morning.” Everything went silent. I started to sway. My sister arrived soon after, repeating the same words: “Your Uncle D is dead.” Dead—like he’s never coming back? I didn’t understand. He went in for surgery on an old gunshot wound. It was supposed to be routine.
They killed him. They killed him. My cousins kept telling me how he was denied proper healthcare because he was Black and an old gunshot victim. There was so much fighting. Family members split apart, each carrying the weight of trauma, shared sins, and shame into the next life.
I once faced death between this world and the next. She asked why I was here. I asked why that boy took his life. She looked at me with kindness and tears, revealing his pain and shame were too much to bear. They felt they had no other choice. May peace find them and their families during these hard times.
Blackness, sadness, guilt, shame—these emotions filled the church sanctuary. The community comforted the parents of both boys, who saw no way out but death. I remember feeling confused when people called it selfish, without understanding or empathizing with the reasons behind their despair.
I once faced death between this world and the next. She asked why I was here—why I took my classmate, whose life was just beginning and held so much promise, and also took 20 children in a mass murder before the holidays, all in the same year.
True transformation requires exposing flaws in our system. Everyone has light and shadows. Our country is no different from the Roman Empire. Everything that rises must fall so something new can emerge from what no longer serves our greatest good, despite the pain.
Childbirth is traumatic and painful, but it results in a miracle—new life physically, spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. The same applies to life’s growing pains.
I once met death between this world and the next. She asked why I was here. I asked why she hadn’t killed the oppressors controlling resources and finances, those within the capitalist system operating until their last breath.
She turned sharply, stern but graceful. “Light can’t exist without dark. Lessons come from obstacles, and transformation requires tribulation.”
To keep the world balanced, we can’t let it tip too far one way. But that’s up to humans—free will is the gateway to transformation on all levels, physical, genetic, and micro genetic.
I once met death—between this world and the next. She held me as I wailed, asking why she wouldn’t take me. She wiped my tears, held me close, and whispered, “Because I chose you. I chose you to bear this burden. I gifted you foresight—to see, reflect, and prepare. Most of all, I chose you because I know you have love, empathy, and patience to help others transform that energy. Love has no bounds and travels at the speed of light across lifetimes. Just open yourself and let it be.”
I’m on the bridge between this world and the next, smiling and grieving simultaneously. A new chapter begins, and I realize I can’t bring everyone with me into this new reality. My grandparents and parents are nearing the end of their time here.
As a ShadowWorker, I can say it’s bittersweet—maybe an understatement. No one teaches you how to navigate these emotions amid a crumbling empire. No one teaches emotional regulation or co-regulation. No one prepares you for raising your parents in your 30s while dealing with your own trauma.
No one warns you that, no matter how ready you think you are for loved ones passing, you’ll never truly be prepared. When friends or siblings of grandparents start dying, the anxiety is overwhelming, even if you believe they’re moving on to a better place. The pain of their absence lingers, and you must retrain your mind to accept they’re no longer here.
Life has a way of sneaking up on you. If you don’t take photos or record family memories, you risk losing touch with your decolonized roots.
Thank you, Death. Not just for the pain, but for the reminder that growth often comes through suffering. Death isn’t the end but a necessary step for new beginnings. It can be traumatic yet peaceful, reflective, and healing, showing us that life and relationships move in cycles. We also go through cycles. It’s crucial to go with the flow because fighting the current is draining, ineffective, and a waste of energy and time.
