January 1, 2014, is when I became a mom,
April 26, 2014, is when I lost mine.
Becoming and losing the greatest love of your life in the same year changes you forever. Since then, I’ve returned to writing as a way to make sense of grief, identity, motherhood, ambition, love, and the invisible threads that continue to shape us long after someone is gone.
These letters are part reflection, part remembrance, and part conversation with the woman who shaped so much of how I move through the world.
Over time, I realized these letters were about more than grief. They were helping me uncover the invisible systems that shape us: family roles, cultural expectations, silence, caregiving, ambition, belonging, and identity.
Long before I had language for systems design, I was already living inside those dynamics and trying to understand them.
Some years are heavier than others. Some are full of gratitude, anger, longing, or growth. All of them are honest.
I’m sharing them for anyone who has had to learn how to keep becoming without the people who first taught them who they were.
Over time, these reflections became part of the foundation for the work I do today: helping people uncover and redesign the unseen forces shaping how they live, work, and lead.
I hope these letters make you feel a little less alone.
Year Eleven – Imagining the Future
Motherhood’s bittersweet math: the deeper the roots, the wider the wings. This decade, I’m learning to love like my mom did—not by holding tight, but by letting go, again and again, with grace.
Year Ten - The other side of grief.
I am not as charged this year. I have been overlooking the lake where we spread her ashes, and there is peace in knowing that she crossed over the threshold or what remains of her from a place I can see. Or maybe the wisdom of some sort after nine years. This year as Buzzfeed sunsets, I bring you nine bullets on living with this reality.
Year Nine - Nine Insights
I am not as charged this year. I have been overlooking the lake where we spread her ashes, and there is peace in knowing that she crossed over the threshold or what remains of her from a place I can see. Or maybe the wisdom of some sort after nine years. This year as Buzzfeed sunsets, I bring you nine bullets on living with this reality.
Year Eight - Finding our Rythym
Today is eight years since Mom passed. Many religions and spiritual practices believe that 8 is a compelling number. Between 7 and 9, the number represents balance and harmony.
Year Seven - The Power of Community
A friend told me many years ago that every cell in a human body replaces itself every seven years. Nothing in your body is over seven years because as cells die, newer cells regenerate so we can continue living. Our biology is the mirror of so many things in life. We are constantly being remade, and change is the only constant thing. Nothing stays with us, the good or the bad, so we can only enjoy the good and learn our lessons from the truly bad things.
Year Six - Time Flies
Raising Lila while managing two careers and trying to have some semblance of kinship and culture makes time fly. My days can be long sometimes, but the years tend to stack up and go by so quickly. It's hard to believe that it's six years ago today since Mom passed.
Year Four - An Unfolding
Many moons ago, I watched the John Cusack movie Serendipity with Mom. For those unfamiliar, it is a classic cheeseball rom-com about two people who fall in love at first sight, have a magical night together, and then separate, only to find each other after years of being apart. If you want more detail, you should watch the movie.
Year Three - The Silence Continues
I can find solace in thinking that she is watching over me. Maybe somewhere in the ether and beyond, she can see Lila grow up, but I have to continue marching forward without her by my side as far as my life goes.