Finding Comfort in Unexpected Places

My young men, sister, me, and mom

At this stage in my life, I’m starting to encounter experiences that even my closest friends and advisors can’t quite guide me through. Last year, I lost my mother to the relentless grip of cancer. Watching her endure the pain as her body slowly failed her was one of the hardest things I’ve ever witnessed. When she finally passed, I truly understood the meaning behind phrases like “she is no longer in pain” and “she’s in a better place.” For the first time, those words brought me comfort. I thought my grieving process had run its course. I believed I could hold on to the fond memories and move forward, feeling my special angel watching over me from heaven.

But then my birthday month arrived.

Throughout my life, I’ve stood on my mother’s shoulders, reaching heights she always saw as blessings. I’ve lived in Europe and Asia, shared space with past presidents, and worked on projects that have made a real impact in the world. My experiences gave me a different worldview than my mom, which often led to spirited debates—okay, let’s be honest, we argued a lot. In fact, I think arguing was our love language. The one exception was my birthday. That was our day to shower each other with compliments. Mom would remind me how proud she was, and I’d tell her how much I loved and appreciated her sacrifices for me and my siblings.

This year, that call never came. And that’s when I realized: I wasn’t done grieving.

Wanting to be alone with my thoughts, I hopped on a plane and found myself at a cigar lounge in North Carolina, sulking in silence. That’s when “DW” and his significant other “KB” walked in, looking for a place to sit. Honestly, I wasn’t in the mood for company, but I invited them to share my table. We all sat quietly, lost in our own worlds. Then, I needed to borrow DW’s lighter. For a moment, I considered leaving rather than risk opening the door to conversation, but I wanted to finish my cigar.

What happened next surprised me. The conversation that followed was an unexpected blessing. DW and KB turned out to be fascinating, kind people—funny enough, they even shared some of the views my mom and I used to agree on. The whole moment felt like a warm hug, exactly when I needed it most. Once again, I was reminded how something as simple as a cigar can open the door to genuine human connection.

DW and KB, if you’re reading this—thank you for being wonderful people. You reminded me that healing can come from the most unexpected places.