Some time has passed, and the emptiness she left behind feels even more present now. The shock of her passing has settled, and what remains is the quiet ache of absence.

I find myself wishing I could talk to her—see her face, holding Moony with pride—while Don would pop into view in his robes and messy morning hair over Zoom. I would tell her all the troubles, both the good and the heavy, that have been taking up space in my head and heart. Concha would understand. She would offer sound advice, and somehow make me feel more cared for, more seen, more loved than I do now without her here to connect with.

I miss her, and I feel the weight of that missing more each day. Still, I’m deeply grateful for the times we shared, because in those moments she was my friend with a youthful spirit—sometimes younger and more energetic than my own—my confidant, whose calm wisdom and wide knowledge of life bridged the spiritual and the practical.

It saddens me that I won’t be able to attend the upcoming memorial and share that love with the people who knew her.

One of the greatest lessons she gave me was the lesson of love itself. When she spoke of Jim, her former husband, it felt like hearing about something vast and luminous—pure, beautiful, and full of quiet butterflies. Even though I met him only once, I felt Concha truly knew and was Love. The real deal.

And then I saw her meet Don. Don, too, became a dear friend of mine—an artist, playful, adventurous—and together they lived a deep love story they were lucky enough to experience. With them, I felt like a friend, but sometimes I also felt like they were my guardians. A chosen family.

With Don, we will continue to cherish Concha—through shared music, drawings, and the steady rhythm of connection. That was the essence of her love: simple yet meaningful actions, grounded in showing up for each other, again and again.

I hope you are in light Oneness now, Concha—in beautiful ethers filled with eternal love.