A Journey Through Grief and the True Meaning of Success
The loss of my 2-year-old grandson, King, was a moment that changed everything for me. At the time, I was on the verge of achieving major career milestones, working on a groundbreaking documentary supported by the Napoleon Hill Foundation and even being featured in Forbes. My life felt like it was moving forward at an incredible pace, with every step aligning with my goals.
But then, the call came — a message that shattered my world. King had drowned in a tragic accident. The boy who would run into my arms whenever he saw me, whose face lit up with joy, was gone. I felt as though an anvil had fallen on my chest, and the weight of grief was unbearable. Every breath felt heavy, and the pain was overwhelming.
King wasn’t just any child to me. Our bond was something special. When I played meditation music by the group Beautiful Chorus, he would stop everything to come sit on my lap and sing along. He had a natural sense of pitch, and we would spend hours singing, playing the African drum, and dancing while I cooked. We laughed until our bellies hurt, creating memories that filled my heart.
The irony of the situation hit me hard. I was working on a documentary about mothers who overcame adversity to find success, yet I was now facing one of the most difficult challenges of my life. Instead of running from the pain, I chose to sit with it.
I didn’t use work or distractions to escape the grief. I allowed myself to feel everything, without turning to vices or coping mechanisms. It was painful, but necessary. My nervous system wouldn’t let me rest, and even when I did sleep, I woke up thinking about King. This experience forced me to confront a deep truth: I had been building my identity around things outside my control. I realized that only the ego would believe that tomorrow is guaranteed for anyone I love.
I couldn’t avoid the pain. I used the tools I had developed through plant medicine, meditation, breathwork, and stillness to sit with the grief and find peace. I understood that there was nothing I could have done to prevent this loss, and that acceptance was part of the healing process.
Before King’s death, my definition of success was entirely external. It was about closing deals, speaking at events, and gaining recognition. I was chasing vanity metrics, using achievements to mask deeper insecurities. But when I lost King, all of that felt meaningless. The Forbes feature, the foundation project, and the speaking engagements no longer mattered in the face of such devastation.
This loss helped me understand that true success isn’t about external validation. It’s about healing trauma, facing my shadows, and addressing my addictions. I know that if I hadn’t been doing inner work before this happened, I would have been completely broken. The preventive inner work I had done gave me the tools to process this unimaginable loss.
Now, I realize that inner work before something happens is the only way to have the tools needed to handle life’s unexpected challenges. King’s death revealed the most resilient part of me — the part that won’t quit, even in the face of unbearable loss. He taught me that true success isn’t measured in business achievements or partnerships. It’s measured in our ability to love deeply, heal authentically, and find meaning even in our darkest moments.
Every time I hear that first tone from Beautiful Chorus, I remember my grandson’s voice singing with mine, perfectly on key. It reminds me that the most important successes in life can’t be quantified on any business metric. They are found in the love we give, the lessons we learn, and the strength we find within ourselves.
