We mourn the loss of a beloved figure whose courage

I began to understand that mourning is not about moving on. It is about learning how to carry someone forward without collapsing under the weight of their absence. Some days I carried her gently. Other days it felt like a burden too heavy for my arms. Both were valid. Both were part of loving her still.

People often say, “She would want you to be strong.” What they mean, I think, is that she would want me to keep living. And I do—but not in the way strength is usually imagined. Strength, I’ve learned, can look like sitting quietly with sadness instead of pushing it away. It can look like speaking her name aloud when silence feels easier. It can look like allowing joy back in without guilt.

Her advocacy did not end with her death. Messages continued to arrive from people who credited her with changing their lives—people who sought medical care because of her honesty, people who felt less alone during their own illnesses, people who found courage through her words. Reading those messages was painful and comforting all at once. They confirmed what I already knew: her life mattered in ways she never fully measured.

She never set out to become a symbol or a voice. She simply told the truth, even when it was uncomfortable. That truth built bridges between strangers. It created community where isolation once lived. And it reminded people that vulnerability can be powerful. Continue reading…