Overnight Oatmeal

DeAndre Washington was shot and killed on a Saturday night in late June. He was nineteen years old. He was two blocks from home.

I found out Sunday morning when Daddy came into my room with a face I had never seen on him before — not quite grief, not quite the controlled expression he uses for bad news, something between them, something that was all of it at once. He sat on the edge of my bed and said DeAndre's name and said what had happened and I sat up and did not speak for a long time.

I had known people who died before. Old people, natural deaths, the understood arc of a long life completing. This was something different. DeAndre was nineteen. He had grown up twenty feet from the street where I grew up. He had said "keep going" to me four days ago. He was gone in a way that had nothing to do with time or arc or completion. He was just gone. Someone made a decision with a gun and now DeAndre was gone.

Mama was already up when I came downstairs. She was at the kitchen table with her coffee, not drinking it, just holding it. She looked at me and opened her arms and I sat down next to her and cried in a way I hadn't cried since I was very small — uncontrolled, physical, the kind that comes from a place below words. She held me and said nothing and did not try to make it better and I am grateful for that. Sometimes the right response to something terrible is just to hold someone in it.

I did not cook that day. The kitchen was there and the food was there and I could not. That absence felt like something too. The first time the kitchen had nothing to offer. I sat in the living room and held a pillow and thought about DeAndre's face and his chips and his Sprite and his smile and his two words to me: keep going. I am going to keep going. That is the only thing I know how to do with this.

I didn’t cook the day we lost DeAndre, and I didn’t cook the day after. But somewhere in that second night — maybe because Mama had been the one holding me all morning and I wanted to do something small for her, or maybe because I just needed to put my hands on something real — I made overnight oatmeal. You don’t cook it. You just assemble it, close the jar, and let the night do the work. That felt like exactly what I could manage. In the morning it was there, waiting, the way people who love you wait — quietly, without asking anything.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 5 minutes + overnight | Servings: 1

Ingredients

1/2 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
1/2 cup milk (dairy or non-dairy)
1/4 cup plain Greek yogurt
1 tablespoon chia seeds
1 tablespoon honey or maple syrup
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
Pinch of cinnamon
Toppings of choice: fresh berries, sliced banana, nut butter, or granola

Instructions

Combine. Add the oats, milk, Greek yogurt, chia seeds, honey, vanilla extract, and cinnamon to a mason jar or container with a lid. Stir well until everything is fully mixed.
Seal and refrigerate. Close the lid tightly and place in the refrigerator overnight, or for at least 6 hours. The oats will absorb the liquid and soften as they rest.
Check consistency. In the morning, remove from the refrigerator and stir. If the oatmeal is thicker than you like, add a splash of milk and stir to loosen it.
Add toppings. Top with fresh berries, sliced banana, a drizzle of nut butter, or whatever feels right. Eat cold straight from the jar, or warm briefly in the microwave for 60–90 seconds if you prefer it warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Overnight Oatmeal — Something Waiting for You When You Can’t Cook