Some Passion, Some Compassion, Some Humor, Some Style

 

“My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.” 
Maya Angelou

My heart is heavy. My Ms. Hopkins passed away yesterday afternoon, and the weight of this loss is settling in. She was more than my Resident Council President—she was my heart. I loved her like a mother and would do anything for her. Every time she asked for something, I would sing to her—changing the lyrics of Whatever Lola Wants to Whatever Ms. Hopkins Wants, Ms. Hopkins Gets. She loved it. I loved her.

For over seven years, she has been a light in my life. Her laughter was pure joy—the kind that fills a room and stays in your soul. She carried herself with faith, patience, and kindness, always.

Yesterday, I was at work—on a Saturday, which isn’t my usual day. But I was there. As I was leaving, I noticed she had a card in the mail, so I stopped by her room. She was in bed, and when I asked how she was, she said, “I’m not feeling well.” Her hand was clammy when I touched it, and she told me she had been throwing up. I stayed with her, holding her hand, offering comfort. Her roommate had been sick earlier in the week, and I thought it was the same bug. Before I left, I told her, “I’ll see you on Monday, Ms. Hopkins. I love you.” She answered, as always, “I love you too, darling.”

An hour later, I got the call. Ms. Hopkins was gone.

I don’t know how to process this yet. I just know that I am deeply sad. But I also know that I was meant to be there yesterday—to hold her hand, to tell her I loved her one more time, to have that final moment together. Maybe that was a gift, for both of us.

I miss her already. I always will.

Like Clouds In The Windy Sky

Birmingham, Alabama

A good day, planting seeds. Arriving home yesterday, I stepped out of my car in the parking lot and looked toward the late afternoon skyline. From this vantage point on one of Birmingham’s few mountains, the view is clear all the way to downtown and the horizon. The sky stretched wide in a breathtaking blue, billowy clouds drifting with effortless lightness. Just outside my window, the oak tree still stands bare, waiting patiently for spring. Below it, the three-story apartment building—the one I glance at in the quiet hours of morning and evening—was getting a new roof. A renewal in progress.

Earlier in the day, I planted flower seeds with the residents, tucking small promises into the soil, trusting the unseen work of growth. A roof being rebuilt, seeds being sown—both reminders that change happens quietly before it blooms.

I’m reminded of zen master Thích Nhất Hạnh’s words: "Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor." By becoming the observer of my emotions, I root myself in beautiful stillness—an unmovable force amid life’s ever-changing landscape.