Spend a lot of time alone? You’re not broken, and you’re not the only one. What really shapes those hours is the story you tell yourself.
Psychologist Ethan Kross, speaking on Big Think, makes a simple point: time by yourself can lift you and help you grow. Not something to fear or dodge. The rub is how we frame it. Read More →
Dear 16-year-old me,
You’re probably rolling your eyes, thinking, “What could my old self possibly tell me?” Fair enough. I am you, only 52 years older, and there are certain matters you truly need to hear.
First, the tough part: the word “negra” your uncles sometimes use. I know how it feels every time they say it. It makes your morena skin and thick, beautiful hair seem like flaws. It makes you feel ugly.
Stop right there. They’re wrong. You are not ugly. Read More →
I have been thinking about death lately, and then I stumbled on an old post of mine on “Death and Dying” with this line from Norman Cousins: “Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside of us while we live.”
What dies inside me is not always the big stuff. It is often the quiet things: curiosity, courage, tenderness, and the habit of noticing small joys. Sometimes faith. Sometimes trust. Sometimes just the willingness to try again.
Grief can do that to me. So can my chronic ailments or a long season of stress. I keep moving, do the errands, show up. But the inner lights dim. Numb helps for a while. Stay there too long, and parts of me forget the way back.
I’ve heard it said, “Grief is the price we pay for love.” People say Queen Elizabeth II said it. Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is the words are true.
When I first heard it, I thought, that sounds harsh. Like love is some cruel deal, happiness traded for pain. But it’s not that. It’s just the truth no one wants to face.
Because when we love, we don’t think about the end. We laugh, we sit at the table together, we hold our kids close. We don’t stop and say, one day this will be gone. We can’t. We just live. And then, when loss comes, that’s when we realize. This is the cost.
The idea of a Camino journey had been with us for years, quietly tucked away in our hearts, waiting for the right time. When that time finally came, the journey unfolded in ways we couldn’t have imagined.
May 21: Vigo to Redondela (15 kms)
From May 21 to 27, we walked the 100 kilometers of the Camino Portugués—but more than that, we walked through memories, through grief, through hope, and love. This journey was for our son Luijoe, who left us 25 years ago. It was also our way of sending quiet prayers for our two daughters and the people they hold close. Reaching the cathedral on the exact day we lost him didn’t feel like chance. It felt like grace.A circle, gently closed. Read More →
It feels like just yesterday, though many years have passed, that I first shared this deeply personal story. But with the arrival of another Easter Sunday, a day so profoundly special, the memory surfaces with a familiar poignancy.
“If I die, Mama, will I be alive again?” Luijoe asked. My six-year-old boy lay nestled amongst a small mountain of prayer books he’d arranged on his little tummy, idly flipping through the pages.
“Tears are the words the heart cannot express.” How poignant these words have become almost 25 years later. Losing a child is like having a piece of your soul ripped away. It’s a pain so profound it defies words, a constant ache that settles deep in your bones. It’s a hollowness that echoes, a silence where laughter and chatter used to be. It’s a future that vanished in an instant, replaced by a grief that reshapes everything. It’s a love with nowhere to go, a connection that’s been severed but not broken. It’s a wound that may heal slightly over time, but never truly closes. It’s the most indescribable feeling imaginable, a weight no one should ever bear.
The pain lives within me, intertwinded into my soul. My son, Luijoe, passed away way too soon. Even though the sharp pain has changed over time, I still feel his absence deeply, like a constant emptiness. Some days, the grief hits me like a wave, reminding me of the future that was snatched from me, the milestones that will never come.
People say time heals all wounds, but I disagree. Time helps us learn to live with the wound. It teaches us to navigate the world with this gaping hole in our hearts. For me, that navigation involves cherishing the sacred bond I still share with Luijoe. It’s a lifeline, vital to my well-being.
I dream of him. I imagine him as he would be today, a young man of 31. I picture him as handsome, lively, and full of energy. I catch myself glancing at other young men, the children of friends, those who are the same age Luijoe would be now. Dine’s daughter, Jane’s son… I see them, so grown up, and a bittersweet smile touches my lips. Because in those fleeting moments, I see a glimpse of what my Luijoe might have been.
I wonder about the young man he would have become. Would he still sing? I remember him at six years old, captivated by music. He loved watching his older sisters during choir practice, his eyes wide with wonder. Pop music was his passion. He’d ask me to download mp3s of his favorite songs on Napster – remember Napster? – and then he’d sing and dance along, completely lost in the joy of the music. Those memories… they’re treasures I hold close, fragments of a life that burned too brightly, too briefly.
I wonder if he’d be here on the coffee farm with me. Would we walk the fields together? I dream of those times when I’m here. Maybe we’d pick coffee cherries side-by-side, and he’d help me get them ready afterwards.
Created using Midjourney
The world tells you to move on, to heal, to forget. But a mother never forgets. A mother’s bond endures. It’s a love that continues even with incomprehensible loss. And even if the tears continue to flow, sometimes quietly, sometimes in a torrent, they are proof of that unfading love. They are the words my heart cannot put into words, a language spoken only by those who have walked this path. I know, in my heart, that someday I will be reunited with my son. And I will keep holding on to his memory with me, a flame that might waver but never go out. It’s a love story that endures, even on the other side of the veil.
Life has a way of catching us off guard, especially when we lose someone we love. Grief doesn’t come with instructions, and words often fall short of what’s stirring inside. In those moments, we search for small comforts, ways to hold onto memories even as we learn to live without them.
Have you noticed how we light candles to remember someone? Across the world, it’s a quiet way of saying, “I remember. I miss you.” That tiny flame, swaying gently in the dark, becomes more than light—it becomes hope.
That flickering flame can feel like the essence of a loved one—a bright moment in the shadows. It symbolizes the love and laughter you shared, the moments that grief can never take away. Lighting a candle is a simple act, but it’s deeply meaningful. It allows you to say goodbye to their physical presence while keeping their memory close, burning within you.
Candles have long held spiritual meaning, offering a way to honor and guide souls. In lighting one, you create a personal moment, a connection to the people you carry in your heart. The soft glow becomes a small space of peace, a reminder that they are never far from your thoughts, even if they’re no longer by your side.
When words fall short, the quiet glow of a candle can fill the space. It invites reflection, providing a moment to remember the joy they brought into your life. In that gentle light, there’s comfort—a reminder that even in the darkest times, hope still flickers.
Today, I light a candle for Luijoe, my parents, and my brothers, Ruben and Oscar. Their love and the memories we made continue to shine within me. Though they are no longer here in person, their spirits remain, guiding me forward with warmth and comfort.
There’s a special place inside each of us where love never fades. It’s where we keep the laughter, the smiles, and the lessons our loved ones left behind. These memories don’t disappear—they shape us, offering light even in our heaviest moments.
If you’re walking the road of grief, know that something as simple as lighting a candle can bring a sense of peace. That flame is a reminder that love outlasts loss. Our loved ones stay with us, their presence etched into our hearts, lighting the way forward—always.
“I just kept saying, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you’ over and over again. Turns out that loving yourself is the greatest way to improve yourself, and as you improve yourself, you improve your world.” — Dr. Ihaleakala Hew Len
I’ve always thought there’s something powerful about saying “thank you.” It seems so simple, but I’ve seen it make a difference. Sometimes it pulls someone up when they’re having a hard time. Other times it softens a tense moment or just brightens an ordinary day. Gratitude spreads. When you give it freely, people often feel moved to pass it along.
Not every word has that effect, though. I remember apologizing once with everything I had, only to be met with silence. The person I hurt wasn’t ready, and maybe the wound was too deep. That moment taught me something I’ll never forget: honesty doesn’t guarantee healing. Sometimes words just aren’t enough, at least not right away.
I notice this even more now that so much of life happens online. We send emojis, stickers, or quick messages, and while they have their place, they don’t carry the same weight as a real connection. When was the last time you looked someone in the eye and said “thank you” or “I’m sorry” with genuine feeling?
Gratitude doesn’t need to be grand. A simple word of thanks can go further than you think. A funny sticker might make someone smile, but it doesn’t carry the warmth of a voice or the intention behind spoken words. My parents raised me to say “thank you” and “I’m sorry,” and as a child those words mattered. As I grew older, I caught myself saying them more out of habit than from the heart.
It wasn’t until later that I came across the Ho’oponopono prayer.It’s made up of four short lines:
“I’m sorry.
Please forgive me.
Thank you.
I love you.”
Simple words, but they cut right to the heart.
Rebecca Cole once said that people rarely acknowledge kindness these days. Her observation hit me. Even a small thank you can mean so much. And whenever I give thanks with intention, it leaves me with a sense of peace.
I also think of Francesca Gino’s story about receiving a note of appreciation from her husband’s CEO. It wasn’t for anything huge, just patience and understanding. Yet it stayed with her. That story reminded me to check myself, to ask if I was really saying “thank you” often enough, and if I was saying it with sincerity.
Apologies matter just as much. Every time I say “I’m sorry,” I see it as more than admitting a mistake. It’s about showing respect and keeping trust alive. Guy Winch, in his book *Emotional First Aid,* talks about how an apology can heal not only the person receiving it but also the one giving it. I’ve felt that myself.
Still, words are not enough on their own. A real apology needs to be backed by change. I tell my husband this often. It’s not just about saying sorry, it’s about understanding the hurt and doing the work to avoid repeating it. He’s learning, and so am I.
Gratitude and honest apologies have a way of changing how we live. They do more than smooth things over. They strengthen relationships, bring a sense of peace, and keep us focused on what truly matters. We shouldn’t wait until it’s too late to speak the words that matter. A simple thank you or a sincere apology can go a long way.
In my last blog post, I wrote about the Ho’oponopono, an ancient Hawaiian practice that combines love, forgiveness, repentance, and gratitude in four powerful phrases. They are:
Dr. Ihaleakala Hew Len is known for his remarkable story of healing an entire ward of mentally ill criminals at the Hawaii State Hospital using the ancient Hawaiian practice of Ho’oponopono. This method involves repeating the phrases “I love you, I’m sorry, Please forgive me, Thank you” as a form of mental cleansing and taking responsibility for one’s life.
According to Dr. Len, the essence of Ho’oponopono is about taking complete responsibility for everything in one’s life. He believed that by healing the part of himself that created or contributed to the problems of others, he could effect change in those individuals. This principle is based on the idea that our external reality is a reflection of our internal state, and by addressing and healing our internal issues, we can influence our external experiences.
Dr. Len’s approach at the Hawaii State Hospital was not about directly treating the patients but about addressing and cleansing his own perceptions and reactions to their cases. He would read the patients’ files and as he experienced reactions like anger, frustration, or embarrassment, he would work on clearing those emotions within himself through the Ho’oponopono phrases. His work led to a significant improvement in the conditions at the ward, and eventually, the ward was closed as the patients were healed and released.
It is important to note that there are different interpretations and adaptations of Ho’oponopono. Dr. Len’s method, popularized through his collaboration with Joe Vitale in the book “Zero Limits,” focuses on the personal responsibility aspect and the use of the four key phrases. However, traditional Ho’oponopono, as taught by Morrnah Simeona, involves a more comprehensive 14-step process.
The story of Dr. Len’s work is often cited as a powerful example of the healing potential of taking full responsibility for one’s life and the impact of internal change on external realities?
HOW AND WHY Ho’oponopono Works: THE QUICK AND FAST TRACK
Here’s how: Start by taking two deep breaths and closing your eyes. Picture yourself or someone who has hurt you, vividly imagining them in front of you. Feel the pain as though it’s happening right now. Then, with genuine emotion, say these four phrases: “I love you, I’m sorry, Please forgive me, Thank you.” Speak each phrase with deep conviction, reflecting on the meanings of love, apology, forgiveness, and gratitude. It might require several repetitions to truly connect with these words. Use them as a mantra, letting their significance deepen with each repetition. When you feel the person in your mind is receptive to this Ho’oponopono practice, imagine them surrounding you with a comforting light and love, symbolizing a union of understanding and healing. This process, when embraced fully, can be profoundly moving and transformative.
Even now as I speak of it, I remember my daughter and tears well up in my eyes at the sheer beauty of this process when approached with wholehearted dedication.
The Why: The Ho’oponopono practice is a powerful way to express self-love. By embracing love and forgiveness, you’re essentially bringing back your own energy. This process is not just about you; it’s about connecting with a broader, universal energy. When you recite the Ho’oponopono, it’s a conversation with your soul and potentially with others you envision in your thoughts. Keep this in mind next time you engage in this practice.
