04/19/2026
I lost my mother on April 18th at 11:11 PM last year. Just eleven days before that, on April 7th, she was laughing in a grocery store. Watching those videos now is bittersweet—because in just a matter of days, everything changed so quickly it still feels unreal.
By April 8th, she was no longer conscious. The pain had become too much, and she asked for her medication to be increased. As it began to take effect, she said something that still echoes in my heart—she asked for a second chance. And in that moment, I felt completely helpless, because there was nothing I could do.
In many ways, I felt like I lost her then. I could no longer talk to her, hear her voice, or feel her presence in the same way. The time we had left became about waiting, hoping, and holding on.
It was the middle of prom season. I was at the airport, preparing to fly to St. Louis with a suitcase full of dresses, when I got the call: “You need to come now. She’s not going to make it through the day.” I thank God every day that call came before I boarded. I checked my bag and left everything behind.
We gathered around her and watched the clock. We watched her heartbeat slow, moment by moment, knowing what was coming but never truly ready for it.
In moments like that, your mind fills with all the things you wish you had done differently—the words you wish you had said, the reassurances you wish you had given more freely. And what weighs on my heart the most is not getting the chance to tell her how incredible she was. That she was a great mother. That I wouldn’t trade her for anyone in the world. I know she needed to hear that, and I wish I had said it more.
This is why I created the Dear Mama Brunch.
A Letter to Our Mother.
A space to say what was left unsaid.
To honor the women who raised us.
To speak love out loud—whether they are here to hear it, or not.
Because even in their absence, our words still matter.
And our love still reaches them.
