The day after my mother’s 78th birthday, when the crisp edges of autumn were settling over Atlanta, I flew her to Washington, D.C., to my brother, who would take her back to Trinidad after her annual extended visit with her grandkids here. Within a day, I was in the intensive care unit fighting for my life.

As a then unknown reaction to an antibiotic raged its internal war, my body began to shut down. I was used to being strong both at work and at home as a single mom to two neurodiverse kids. Then everything quickly fell apart.

As a founding director of fellowships at The 19th News, I was preparing to announce our next cohort and host a retreat — several intensive days of workshops, community and networking — to launch their year in our newsroom covering gender, politics and policy. I

See Full Page