Today marks the thirty-third anniversary of my mother’s murder.
It’s a sentence that still feels foreign in my mouth, even after all these years. Loss this sharp doesn’t dull, it just changes shape. It weaves itself into who you are, into the way you see the world, into the lessons you choose to carry forward.
My mother taught me so much before she was taken; how to sit with people, how to listen fully (rather than just waiting to talk), how to laugh even when the world seemed cruel. But she also taught me after she was gone. Her absence carved out a space in me that demanded I learn resilience, that I discover what presence truly means, that I find a way to honor her by living fully.
Every time I’m in front of an audience, or from a single person with a story in their heart, I hear her voice. Not in words, but in the quiet reminders to bring gentleness, courage, and truth. Her legacy is not only in who she was, but in who she continues to help me become.
Today, I don’t share this to draw you into sorrow. I share it because anniversaries, especially the painful ones, are invitations and opportunities. Invitations to pause, to reflect, to remember what matters most, and the opportunity to step forward with intention.
So I ask you: what lessons are still speaking to you across time? Who has shaped you, not just by their presence, but also by their absence?
Thank you for walking this path with me.
h
