I've been answering death's call for longer than I've had the words for it.

Before the words, I had another job: fifteen years in film production, walking into a room mid-transition, figuring out fast what actually needs doing.

Most of the time, that's caring as an act, not an abstract concept. Showing up fully present, paying attention to what's at hand rather than what others assume should be — and noticing what's underneath the moment, too. I have an ear for what grief can do to a sentence. It circles, and stalls the way a wave does before it decides to break. And sometimes it just quits, mid-thought — that's fine too.

I use what I sense to bring people and ideas together, then tend to what I gather, holding it all with curiosity and hopefully making room for humor. Grief and gratitude get easier to hold when you're not holding them alone.