I was about 17 when my grandmother died.

That was almost 20 years ago now, and only later in life did I begin to realize just how much of her lives in me.

The way I laugh.
The way I ask questions.
The way I care for people.
The way I can be playful, nosy, bold, and deeply sentimental all at the same time.

So much of who I am was shaped by the woman who helped raise me.

Growing up as an Afro-Latina from Roatán, Honduras, I learned that love in our Caribbean homes does not always come wrapped in words.

• Sometimes love is food on your plate before you ask.
• Sometimes it is fussing that sounds like correction but feels like protection.
• Sometimes it is watching over children while carrying stories nobody ever fully asks about.
• Sometimes it is laughter in the house, cousins running around, and grown women pretending not to enjoy our foolishness when they absolutely did.

My grandmother was one of those women.

I remember asking her questions about her personal life, about what things were like when she was younger. I wanted to know her beyond just being “Grammy.”

I wanted to know the girl she had been, the woman she became, the life she lived before us.

I even remember asking her how many boyfriends she had.

And she would look at me like I had lost my whole mind. LOL!

She would tell me to back down, that I was getting too deep into her life, and who did I think I was asking such questions as a little girl. Then, hours later she would come back and answer all of my questions with extras..

But that was us.

We played a lot. We laughed a lot. She let us kids be kids around her. And now, when I look back, I realize those moments were not small at all.

They were inheritance.

They were emotional education.
They were memory being planted in me before I even knew I would need it.
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They were love, even when love was not always spoken out loud.

In some Caribbean, Latin, and immigrant homes, we know this well. The love is there, deep and unmistakable, but the words do not always leave people’s mouths.

And sometimes, when people are gone, the silence of what was not said becomes heavy.

That is the part I keep thinking about.

Because one of the things I am most grateful for in my life is that, even as young as 14, I was telling my grandmother I loved her and how much I would miss her when we left for the United States.

I did not fully understand then what a gift that would become.

I did not know that more than 20 years later, I would still be replaying her voice, her facial expressions, her little ways, and realizing how much of her had been folded into me.

But I am grateful that she knew.

There is a line from Baba Ram Dass that I love:

“We are all just walking each other home.”

Some people walking beside us arrive at their destination sooner than we expect. We rarely know how much time we get before the path splits.

I walked with my grandmother for 17 years before I had to drop her off.

And almost 20 years later, I am still carrying what she gave me.

That is why emotional intelligence matters so deeply to me.

Not just in boardrooms.
Not just in leadership meetings.
Not just when we are managing people, resolving conflict, or trying to be understood at work.

Emotional intelligence matters because it shapes how we show up for the people we love while they are still here to receive it.

It is the pause before pride wins.
The courage to say “I love you.”
The awareness to notice when someone is hurting beneath their silence.
The humility to repair before distance becomes permanent.

Because one day, the meeting ends.
The titles fade.
The deadlines stop.

But the words we gave people…or withheld from them…
often stay behind the longest.

So here is what I want you to do next.

If you did not get a chance to do it this past weekend, I want you to block out some proper time for the people you love.

Not the rushed kind.
Not the distracted kind.
Not the “I’ll call them when things slow down” kind.

Proper time.

And when you are with them, tell them.

Actually tell them.

• Tell them why you love them.
• Tell them what they mean to you.
• Tell them a specific memory with them that still lives in your body.
• Tell them what they gave you that they might not even realize.
• Tell them who they helped you become.

Ask them questions, too.

Ask about their childhood.
Ask what they were like before they became your parent, that manager that sees you, grandparent, auntie, uncle, elder, or protector.
Ask what they dreamed about.
Ask what made them laugh.
Ask what they survived.
Ask what they want you to know.

They might tell you to mind your business.

Ask anyway.

Lovingly. Respectfully. Cheekily, if that is your way.

And if the person you love lives far away, call them. Send the voice note. Write the long message. Say the thing properly.

And if they are no longer here, speak it anyway.

Send the prayer.
Talk to them out loud.
Let the sea breeze carry it.
Trust that love knows how to find its way.

Block out the time.
Ask the questions.
Say the thing.

Because the people we love should not have to guess.

P.S. If you know someone that can use this, feel free to share.

Dont forget to be Significant!

Dr. Dale