Tina’s Story

I remember the day my mom passed away—it was a Tuesday. It was April 12, 2016. I was in shock, I was numb, unable to believe what was happening. My mom and I shared an incredibly close bond; we spoke at least twice a day, every day. Our last conversation was on the Friday before she passed. She had severe chronic psoriasis and had recently taken an injectable medication for it. That Friday, she was worried because the injection hadn't gone as planned, and I told her to call the doctor on Monday to figure out the next steps.

I reassured her that everything would be okay during our last conversation. That weekend, I spent time with friends, enjoying myself, and though it was unusual not to hear from my mom, I didn't think much of it at the time. Then, in the early hours of Tuesday, my sister came pounding on my patio door, waking me with urgent news—our mother had been rushed to the hospital again due to severe blood loss. Despite countless tests, the doctors could never pinpoint the underlying condition that plagued her.

During the last few years of her life, my mom was in and out of the hospital for internal bleeding. She’d receive blood transfusions, feel better, and come home to recover—or so it seemed. So when my sister woke me that night, I assumed it would be another routine hospital visit. I was exhausted from being by her side on every trip, and since my niece was with her, I convinced myself it was okay to rest a little before heading to the hospital. But then my niece called, screaming and crying. I knew I had to get there immediately. I woke my children and rushed to the hospital. When I arrived, my sister met me at the door, raised her hands, and said, 'Mommy’s gone.' My heart sank. My mouth went dry, a lump formed in my throat, and I felt paralyzed. I couldn’t breathe. Oh my God… not MOMMY! I was in utter disbelief.

In that moment, as if I had some power over life or death, I cried out, 'Wait! Let me see her,' as if I could somehow change the reality. I quickened my pace to the room where my mother lay. When I reached her, I felt faint. There she was, surrounded by tubes and machines, her chest unnaturally expanded—her ribs had been broken during the medical staff’s desperate attempts to resuscitate her. My dear mother looked exhausted, yet somehow at peace. I was devastated, as was my entire family. Since that day, I've never been the same.

My family and I had already endured so much loss—both of my fathers, my stepfather who fought bravely through 21 years of dialysis only to succumb to a staph infection, my biological father to throat cancer, a brother to AIDS, and two cousins and an aunt to murder. Friends to suicide and gun violence. Death, loss, and grief have ravaged my family, with three passing in just one year. The pain is relentless, and it has forever changed me.

I had watched my aunts, grandmother, and mother endure the unimaginable pain of losing their children and husband. I witnessed firsthand the agony and suffering that words can barely describe. The people who took my family from me didn’t face the justice they deserved—one walked free due to a self-defense claim, another murder remains unsolved, and the man who killed my youngest aunt served just 15 years and is now back to living his life while my aunt is gone forever.

When my stepfather passed away, I helped my grandfather create his obituary and plan his service. I did the same for my grandmother when my aunt was murdered. I had no formal training in these matters, but through the painful experience of loss, I became the one to make the funeral arrangements for my family. I spoke at every service.

Then came the time to do the same for my mother. We were incredibly close—she was my rock, and I was hers. If you saw her, you saw me. It became my responsibility to take care of her arrangements, to plan and organize her services, and to write her obituary. God even gave me the strength and courage to stand up and deliver her eulogy, as we had no clergy and couldn’t afford any to officiate her funeral. It was only by God’s grace that I was able to do that. 

The pain of death, loss, and grief is profound, real, and heartbreaking. In these difficult moments, we all need love, courage, hope, and inspiration. This is why I’m so passionate about helping others navigate and heal through such challenging times. Together, we are stronger. We find the strength to carry on because we know we must, and having a compassionate, caring person by your side can be a true lifeline.

My goal is to uplift, listen, and provide support to those who are grieving, no matter where they are on their journey. I’m here to celebrate the lives of our lost loved ones, to keep their memories alive, and to honor their legacies. I pray that I can do justice to those in need. I would be honored to have you join the community I’m building in memory of my mother and all of my lost loved ones. You are not alone in your pain—let’s walk this path together and make our loved ones proud.