Just wanted to share a really rough couple of weeks… My mom being hospitalized two weeks ago, my book launching on Thursday, my mom passing yesterday and my birthday today. I was built with strength, provided by God and cured by my mom. So I can handle pressure. Especially under stress. I wrote the tribute below from the hospital room while watching her… 💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝 The clock ticked slower there. In that wing of a medical center in São Paulo, time stopped being in a hurry. You heard every tick. You felt the space between them. And you would have given anything to fill that gap with something other than what was coming. My mom (Mamis to us) spent her last fourteen days in that hospital. Tough as nails to the very end. Eighty years old, on the 21st floor, fighting until her last breath. Giving out a little more each morning, her breathing heavier and heavier, her strength fading like a tide going out and not coming back. That fight came from somewhere deeper. She had a rough life. Unfortunately, her last weeks followed suit. On the flip side, you don't raise two kids who turn out better than okay without being tough as nails yourself. On that wing, nobody talked about it out loud, but everybody knew. No patient walks out of that floor alive. It's not a hospital ward. It's a waiting room for the inevitable. A death sentence with soft sheets and the kindest nurses and doctors you will ever meet in your life. They are not there to perform miracles. They are there to provide abundant love to the patients and their families. I know death. I've been close to it four times myself. But here's the thing: facing your own death and watching someone you love face theirs are not the same thing. Not even close. In those four instances, I was the main actor. I had my own will to throw at it. My own body to fight with. There was something to do. With my mom, I was the spectator. And that's a completely different weight. You can't fight it. You can't fix it. You can't trade places, nor can you buy more time or hope.