Meet Mars Mom

My precious son, Omari—whom we all lovingly called Mars—is more than just my only child; he is the shining light that illuminated my world, my greatest source of joy, and the very heartbeat of my existence. From the moment he was born, I cried uncontrollably as I looked at him, overwhelmed by a love so profound that it took my breath away. In that moment, I saw perfection—his tiny face, his gentle breaths—and I knew, deep in my soul, that he was the most precious gift I had ever received. His bright spirit, infectious smile, and boundless energy made every day brighter. Mars was a dreamer, a free spirit who embraced life with passion and courage. He had a way of making everyone around him feel seen and appreciated, and his presence was a gift that I cherished with all my heart. But on the heartbreaking afternoon of July 18, 2023, that world was shattered in an instant. I received a call from the Georgia DeKalb County Sheriff’s Office, asking to speak with Omari Munroe’s mother. As I answered trembling, the officer’s voice was calm but heavy with gravity, immediately setting off alarm bells in my mind. 

 

She started by asking for my location and confirming my identity, and I could feel a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. Then, in a voice that seemed to carry the weight of sorrow and urgency, she said, “There has been an accident, and… your son didn’t survive.” My heart pounded so loudly I thought it might burst. The officer proceeded to explain that my son had been involved in a serious motorcycle accident that afternoon. She told me how emergency crews had rushed to the scene and transferred him to the hospital, but despite their efforts, shortly afterwards he had succumbed to his injuries. Hearing these words, I felt my entire body go numb, as if the ground had shifted beneath my feet. I begged, trembling, “What are you saying? Please, no. Tell me this isn’t true. Please, tell me my son is alive.” But the officer’s voice remained steady, compassionate yet firm, as she repeated the heartbreaking truth: “I’m sorry, ma’am. Your son did not survive.”

 

That moment froze in time. I could hear her speaking, but it all sounded distant, like a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. My mind raced to grasp what I was hearing—this cruel, devastating reality that my son, my everything, was gone. Then, as if the universe itself conspired to shatter me further, I begged, “Please, there must be some mistake. Please tell me he’s okay. Please tell me he’s alive.” But silence was all I received. The words echoed over and over in my mind, each time more agonizing than the last. 

 

When I finally managed to hang up the phone, I was trembling uncontrollably. I stumbled toward my parents’ home, my legs weak and trembling with shock. As I entered, I let out what my mother called a gut-wrenching curdle—a raw cry that came from the depths of my soul, a sound so piercing and full of pain that it shook me to my core. In that terrible moment, all I could do was scream outwardly, “NO not my son! Please, God, not my son!” Little did I know that I would only have him for 25 years and 12 days—25 years and 12 of love, laughter, and dreams, snatched away so suddenly and cruelly. How could this be real? How could the universe, so unforgiving and relentless, and take away my Mars—who was out there living his dreams, embracing every moment, riding his motorcycle with joy and fearless spirit? He was full of life, hope, and endless potential. And yet, in a single, devastating instant, all of that was stolen from us. When Mars’s heart stopped beating, mine stopped as well. I died that day—in a way words can’t fully describe. The ache of losing him is an unbearable weight—an ache so profound that it feels as though my very soul has been torn apart. The words “No, not my son!” echo ceaselessly in my mind, a haunting refrain that refuses to fade. It’s as if my heart has stopped beating, unable to find rhythm without him here, holding his hand, sharing his laughter, and chasing his dreams. The void he leaves behind is overwhelming—a silence that screams louder than any words ever could.

 

To many of his friends, Mars was also known by the nickname "Sudo," a name that carried a powerful message of resilience and determination. It is a reminder to me that no matter how difficult the challenge, no matter how many setbacks I face, I have to find the strength to push through. I have to live by Mars nickname of Sudo, "Each time, every time, without fail, you must do it" encapsulated his unwavering spirit—a mantra he lived by. And so, when times get hard, I quietly say Sudo!  A quiet affirmation to myself and Mars that no obstacle is insurmountable, that he would want me to rise again and again, with courage and resolve, no matter what life throws my way. His response was simple yet profound: "And so, I must do it," a declaration that reflected his relentless drive to persevere and overcome.