Her Bed

Grief Rearranged the Room

I sat on the corner of her bed and every breath became shallower than the next.

She was pristine. She was bathed. Her sheets were clean. In her hand, she held a soft blue plush toy with a twisted white horn.

She was beautiful. She was suffering. She was my mom.

After a few breaths, she was gone. The room was silent and heavy. I had the privilege of taking care of her for several months before she passed, and I was there when she took her last breath.

I knew nothing about death; it was a relatively foreign concept in my life, and at forty nine, not having lost many people close to me felt like winning a life lottery of ignorance and comfort. That veil lifted that day.

I could no longer deny the truth that life was finite. From that moment on, time felt different to me. Every second felt visible. Not in a dramatic way. Just real. And I knew I could not keep moving through life the same way I had before.

I Thought I Was Just Busy

Before my mom died, I was running through life directionally lost but proud of how fast I could run and how much I could carry. That was my badge of honor.

People were always in awe of my energy, especially since this Colombian never drank a cup of coffee in her life. The saying was always the same: if you want something done, give it to the busiest person in the room. That was me.

A few months after my mom passed, I lost my job. I received more condolences for the loss of my job than I did for the loss of my mother.

Oddly, I was not as shaken as I expected to be.

Something had already shifted in me. Losing the job did not feel devastating. It felt like another layer being removed. As life started stripping away parts of my identity, I did not fight it. I actually paid attention.

When the noise quieted, I felt vulnerable. Unsure. I did not know exactly who I was becoming, and that was uncomfortable.

So I focused on what I could control. Not everything. Just enough.

I Had to Choose a Different Why

I started working out every day. Lifting heavy weight. Taking care of my body in a way I had not before. I ate food that actually supported my health. I stayed connected to philanthropy. I kept doing things that mattered, even as everything else felt unsettled.

And I slowed down for my family. Really slowed down. I stopped knowing them only in rushed moments between a purposely hectic life and started understanding who they actually were. What made each of them tic. And how to be the toc in their clock.

I do not live at the same speed anymore. I am more aware of how I spend my time and my energy. I still make mistakes, plenty of them, but now I can see them as they are happening. I know they are choices.

I am loyal to people. We are all flawed and disappointing at times, and also pretty incredible. I have an amazing tribe, and I want to keep growing it. A real community of people who challenge me, ground me, and make life and my family’s life better.

Death did not make me fearful.

It made me aware.

Aware that my time is finite.

And that my happiness depends on how I choose to live.

I’m unfinished, fully and unapologetically.

I’m thinking in real time, making plenty of mistakes, changing my mind, and still moving forward.

I’m not here to package it or make it neat.

I’m here because this is what it looks like to stay engaged with your own life,

to live intentionally and take responsibility for the life you’re building.