It was pre-pandemic 2019, and I was the communications director at the Method Meditation based in Palm Beach Gardens, working remotely from Asheville guiding the cystic fibrosis community to immunity strength through Vedic meditation. 

We were meeting on Zoom for the day — a joyous coming together for CF warriors who lived life 6 feet apart even before covid. And I’d really indulged in my meditation practice and Firefly cacao that morning. 

But then my phone kept buzzing. I’d spent the previous evening chatting with my father Gary after his birthday bike ride back in Miami, our chat was buoyant but brief, due to a schism between myself and my mother that occurred 6 weeks prior.  He had called, ecstatic, at peace even - and thanked me for the birthday package I mailed to him. 

So I ignored my phone, and I continued with my Zoom call with my patients. After the meeting, when I looked at my messages, there was a text from my brother, filled with expletives threatening me if I did not answer my phone. 

Ignoring my brother, I sent a message to my dad. “Hey, I’m getting a lot of phone calls - just let me know you’re okay.”

I never heard back.

Finally, I answered a call from my father’s sister - my Aunt Lisa. Here I was, trying to move beyond a seismic family rift from the previous November, but now my father’s life had ended. So I listened to my aunt, nothing left to say. An unimaginable ending to a life. 

That day, the earth erupted in front of me, and binary appeared all over the walls of my bedroom. I laid on my bed, my brain shut down. Synesthesia overcame me and I could not recognize my own name or address or reflection. My old boss Jonathan called me immediately from New York City. He grabbed my name, address and DOB, he ordered me an Uber, and then he booked me a flight home giving me support I didn’t even know I needed.

By some miracle I ran into my best childhood friend Ashley at my gate. As the plane took off, my mentor Matt Cardone gave me a seed mantra through mobile. As I closed my eyes, and grasped my orange scarf I caught a glimpse of a sacred chant. Twenty minutes later I opened my eyes. The man sitting next to me, his name was Gary just like my father, I could see it on his ticket, he was reading Proof of Heaven. 

God, and my father, in that day had metamorphosed into every touchpoint of my life. I noticed both their presences in every interaction. In a way when he died, I did too. A confirmation of sorts that when we go, we do not go alone.

It was pre-pandemic 2019, and I was the communications director at the Method Meditation based in Palm Beach Gardens, working remotely from Asheville guiding the cystic fibrosis community to immunity strength through Vedic meditation. 

We were meeting on Zoom for the day — a joyous coming together for CF warriors who lived life 6 feet apart even before covid. And I’d really indulged in my meditation practice and Firefly cacao that morning. 

But then my phone kept buzzing. I’d spent the previous evening chatting with my father Gary after his birthday bike ride back in Miami, our chat was buoyant but brief, due to a schism between myself and my mother that occurred 6 weeks prior.  He had called, ecstatic, at peace even - and thanked me for the birthday package I mailed to him. 

So I ignored my phone, and I continued with my Zoom call with my patients. After the meeting, when I looked at my messages, there was a text from my brother, filled with expletives threatening me if I did not answer my phone. 

Ignoring my brother, I sent a message to my dad. “Hey, I’m getting a lot of phone calls - just let me know you’re okay.”

I never heard back.

Finally, I answered a call from my father’s sister - my Aunt Lisa. Here I was, trying to move beyond a seismic family rift from the previous November, but now my father’s life had ended. So I listened to my aunt, nothing left to say. An unimaginable ending to a life. 

That day, the earth erupted in front of me, and binary appeared all over the walls of my bedroom. I laid on my bed, my brain shut down. Synesthesia overcame me and I could not recognize my own name or address or reflection. My old boss Jonathan called me immediately from New York City. He grabbed my name, address and DOB, he ordered me an Uber, and then he booked me a flight home giving me support I didn’t even know I needed.

By some miracle I ran into my best childhood friend Ashley at my gate. As the plane took off, my mentor Matt Cardone gave me a seed mantra through mobile. As I closed my eyes, and grasped my orange scarf I caught a glimpse of a sacred chant. Twenty minutes later I opened my eyes. The man sitting next to me, his name was Gary just like my father, I could see it on his ticket, he was reading Proof of Heaven. 

God, and my father, in that day had metamorphosed into every touchpoint of my life. I noticed both their presences in every interaction. In a way when he died, I did too. A confirmation of sorts that when we go, we do not go alone.