Why I cannot get Tyre Nichols out of my head.

What will forever haunt me about the Tyre Nichols murder is that he was calling for his mother during the last moments he was beaten to death. For all intents and purposes he died scared and alone, with no one to hold is hand and tell him he is loved.

I know exactly what it's like to be alone, in the dark, scared, and only wanting my mother to hear my voice and call out so that I don't have to be afraid anymore.

This story took me back to early childhood. And all my mother had to do was call my name and I knew that everything would be okay and that I would be safe. And taken care of. The voice of a mother can being calm to heavy seas, can pacify the most unsettling dreams, and can vanquish the closet monster with a single breathe.

My kids are five and seven. The number of times they call out "mommy! mommy!" is enough to drive a me bonkers. I get it, though! Mommy is a grounding rod that gives them a place, and peace, and calm in their world.

I am not a kid anymore. As an adult, I don't call out to mommy, like my children. But I call my mother every week and still look for her reassurance that I am living up to be the son and a man she can be proud of.

And that's what haunts me and makes me sick to my stomach. Tyre, a 29 year old, was beaten to such a degree, that his entire adult self regressed to the point of a child. His reality collapsed on itself. He was so terrified and so alone in that moment that only his mother could save him.