When the Surface Looks Fine: A Reflection on Humanity, Loss, and the Quiet Work of Resilience

The Sunrise will always be there after the storm

Originally Published on LinkedIn

April 4, 2026

The news of our friend's sudden passing stopped me in my tracks.

No warning. No time to brace yourself. Just a moment that lands heavily and does not let go. How could we miss it? He was so full of life, so loved, so not alone.

I have spent a good portion of my life writing and speaking about resilience. In Tenacity for Life, I tried to make sense of what it means to keep going when things get hard. But moments like this one do not fit neatly into a lesson or a framework. They just sit with you and demand something different from you, something quieter than a strategy and more honest than an answer.

They ask you to slow down. To reflect. To question what you thought you already understood.

Because the truth is, we rarely know what someone is going through.

We see the surface. The composed version. The professional who keeps showing up for others. The colleague who seems to be managing just fine. But underneath that surface, people carry things we never see. Loss. Pressure. Uncertainty. The kind of weight that does not announce itself, and the kind that people learn to hide well.

It is easy to miss. We are all busy. We are all managing our own set of challenges. So, we move forward, often assuming that the people around us are doing the same without issue. Until something like this stops you cold and reminds you that assumption costs more than we think.

I have been sitting with how often we get this wrong. How quickly we form opinions about someone's situation. How easily we create distance when circumstances shift. I have seen it in business and in life. When things are going well, people gather around. When things change, the circle tightens. Those who once raised you up become the ones who crucify you, almost biblically.  Sometimes very quickly.

Turning our backs in times of need eats at our humanity.

Turning our backs in times of need eats at our humanity.

If I am being honest with myself, I think most of us have been on both sides of that at some point. That is the uncomfortable part of this reflection.

Because the moment we lose the instinct to reach out, to check in without a reason, to extend grace before we have the full picture, we lose something more important than any professional outcome. We lose our humanity.

This Easter season brings that into sharper focus for me.

The Easter story is about more than renewal. It is a story of betrayal, abandonment, and suffering before it becomes one of redemption. The same people who once lifted him up turned away. The voices that praised him went quiet when it mattered most. That tension is not just historical. It is deeply human. We still do it. And yet the story does not end there.

There is a Holy Friday, the crucifixion. There is Saturday, the mourning. And then there is a Sunday- the new hope.

Suffering, confusion, and ultimately renewal. I find myself returning to that arc as I work through my own current chapter. There are days that challenge your sense of direction and make you revisit your why. Days when you are carrying more than you let on to anyone around you.

You think about reaching out. But you hesitate. You do not want to be a burden. You tell yourself others are busy. You convince yourself to just keep moving. So, you carry it alone.

I must believe that it is far more common than any of us is willing to admit. Especially in a world of social media, which manicures the presentation and branding so meticulously as to not admit vulnerability.

Which is exactly why the outreach matters. A call. A handwritten note. A simple check-in with no agenda attached. One with no ask, just to listen. Those small gestures carry real weight, especially for someone who has been trying to carry something on their own.

This loss is hard to make sense of. I am not sure it will ever be completely. I think of his family, the kids, my god.  I can’t fathom, nor can words provide any semblance of consolation for this pain.

But I do know we have a choice in how we respond to it.

We can move on quickly, or we can slow down and be more intentional about how we show up for the people in our lives. We can assume, or we can ask. We can stay in our lane, or we can reach across it.

Easter is a reminder that even in the darkest moments, light remains possible. That sometimes the only thing you can do is get through the day ahead and trust that tomorrow brings something different.

That hope matters.

And maybe that is where all this lands for me. Not with clean answers, but with a renewed sense of awareness. To reach out more. To assume less. To be more present with the people around me.

Because we do not know what someone is carrying. This IS your wake-up call, should you choose to answer it.

And sometimes, simply knowing that someone thought to reach out can make all the difference in the world.

© 2026 by Tenacity for Life Publications- All Rights Reserved