When I heard that DMX had overdosed and was on life support, I knew the outcome. I feel as though I am prepared to face the inevitability of his current circumstances. Initially I feel, I’m OK.

My preparation, or so I think, comes from my own experience with my mother. About sixteen years ago, my mother took a diagnostic test that sent her into cardiac arrest. Her brain went two minutes without oxygen. Life support became my mom’s only means of breathing on her own.

Subsequent tests revealed what was painfully apparent as I looked at her seemingly lifeless body in that hospital bed. Little brain activity. My sister and I had to make a decision. As we’re part of a Christian dynamic, family pressures made us unable to grant mercies of transition. We kept her on life support until she expired. Our mom would make her way to glory, but that wasn’t without a fight to keep her here with us.

So I’m good – or so I think. Every update concerning DMX is consistent with my mother’s experience. I got this. I know what to expect. Life support. Little brain activity. I think I’m prepared, but then the news hit. His organs, like my mom’s, are failing. A couple of hours later… “Rapper DMX dead at age 50.”

Not as Good as I think.

I sighed and instantly, I’m cold. Suddenly, it comes to me – I’m not as good as I think.

I make an attempt to navigate into robot mode, so I jump into my car to pick up my oldest son from school. OK, let me start blasting DMX’s hits on Apple music.

Usually, I’m very cautious about playing music too loud in my car. Especially since I’m Black in a predominantly White neighborhood. Today is different though – I don’t care what these suburban bred Lilly Whites think – I’m honoring X and I’m honoring him loudly.

I get through a couple of songs – no problem. I appreciate the raw strength and darkness that DMX brought at a time when hip hop needed it.

But, fam, why is there a hard lump in my throat? Damn. Here we go:

“What type of games is being played, how’s it going down? Is it all for the stars, I just got to know how.”

That’s when I lose it. My son is sitting right next to me and I try and keep it together, but the warm tears escape my eyes and freely flow down my cheeks. My incredibly perceptive son asks:

“Mom, did DMX die?”

My voice breaks: Yes. It was at that point, the ugly reality is right in front of me: I’m not as good as I think. As much as we think we are – we’re never ready for death or for loss.

I Mourn.

I mourn DMX. My heart aches for the gifts he brought to his millions of fans, but the peace that he couldn’t ultimately gift himself. I mourn the demons that he continuously fought and did so valiantly.

I thought I was prepared, but how could I be?

DMX was the personification of vulnerability and spiritually wrapped in an authentic, raw life experience. I remember going to college and coincidentally or consequently, becoming good friends with his family and friends from Yonkers. Everything he rapped about was real. He was real. His struggles weren’t made for entertainment; they reflected the rivers he had to cross and the storms he always navigated through his all too short life.

Today, April 9th, 2021, I’m not OK. We lost DMX. I mourn him just as I mourn my mother each and every day until I breathe my last breath. And you know what?

It’s OK, not to be OK.

Blissfully Single and Yours,