Finding Roots Again

In October 2022, my parents were killed when their vehicle was T-boned by a driver traveling over 97 MPH down Archer Avenue on the South Side of Chicago.

The years that followed taught me something about grief that I did not understand before.

Life does not stop. The workday still arrives, especially after the first year when everything is a blur.

Meetings still happen. Decisions still need to be made. People still look to you for guidance, support, and presence.

So you do what many people do. You keep going.

What I did not fully appreciate at the time was that grief does not disappear simply because responsibilities continue. It gets stored away so life can keep moving.

Until one day it asks to be acknowledged.

Not in a meeting. Not in a performance review. Not while responding to emails. Not while transitioning professionally.

But somewhere you can hold it.

For me, that place was El Huizachal, our place in Mexico.

Over the past few years, it has been a place where I’ve returned again and again. A place to think. A place to remember. A place to sit with things that are unreachable through words.

Currently, while recovering from surgery, I found myself sharing part of the story with Eulalia, who is helping care for me. This came after she shared part of her own life.

I didn’t share every detail. Just the truth.

My parents died. Shortly after, I emptied the house, which was filled with a lifetime of memories, while somehow trying to process the pain.

I struggled during that time more than I expected. I left. And returned.

And somewhere along the way, I realized that healing is not always about moving on.

Sometimes it is about rooting again.

In the past year, I decided that my parents’ ashes will rest at El Huizachal.

There is something comforting about that.

The land knew them. The land knew my paternal grandparents.

And now, in its own quiet way, it continues to bring me back home, to fill me again, and to receive those who remember my parents.

I share this because grief rarely follows the timelines we expect. Sometimes it lives beside us while we continue showing up, doing our jobs, caring for others, and carrying responsibilities that cannot be put on hold.

And sometimes healing begins not when we finally have answers, but when we find a place where the story finally finds roots again, and we can breathe easier.

My Auténtico Self™