Grief is a strange teacher. It doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t wait for the right time. It just arrives—unexpectedly, and with a suitcase full of memories, emotions, and moments we thought we had more time for.
A dear friend of mine passed away from cancer just a few days ago, and I’m not gonna lie: even though I’d known she’d been struggling for the past few years; her death still hit me like a tonne of bricks. We spoke just a couple of months ago — she was hopeful, joyful even, and seemed to be on the upswing. But cancer has a way of reminding us that time is a gift, not a guarantee, so, of course, her death isn’t just a loss; it was a time of reflection for me. A chance to pause, cry, remember, and honor her existence by living with more purpose.
She was more than a friend. She was a superfan of my old band, Static Era, back in my New Zealand days. She flew across the world to visit me in D.C. just before the pandemic hit. She was joy in motion. She was love in action. And the lessons she embodied will continue to ripple through my daily living —even now, in her absence.
Now, as someone who’s survived 24 surgeries — including 10 brain surgeries due to hydrocephalus — I know something about pain. I know what it feels like to grieve not just people, but parts of myself I’ve lost along the way. I also know the healing power of music — how songwriting, singing, and storytelling can help us survive the unspeakable, make sense of the chaos, and reconnect with hope.
So today, I’m honoring her life — and so many others I’ve lost — by sharing 10 life lessons that continue to shape who I am. Each one is woven into my music. Because that’s how I process. That’s how I survive. And that’s how I lead — with music, emotion, and truth.
1. Never Take a Day for Granted. Every Day Is an Adventure
Death reminds us that nothing is promised — not even tomorrow. My song “My Fire” is a call to burn bright now. To live with urgency, not anxiety. Because time passes, and we don’t get to rewind it. Life isn’t a rehearsal — it’s the final production.
This lesson has echoed in my body through every hospital bed, every time I’ve had to fight for my brain and my existence. And it shows up in my writing too. Every lyric I’ve ever penned came from the understanding that our moments matter. Each breath is a gift. So light your fire. Dance. Laugh. Cry. Sing.
And let your daily living become a legacy.
2. Love On Purpose
Love isn’t just a feeling — it’s an action. It’s showing up, choosing kindness, and fighting for what matters. That’s what “Love On Purpose” is about: refusing to go through life on autopilot. Letting love be the thing we lead with.
I’ve seen how easy it is for most people to get swept into distraction, performance, ego. But love requires intention. Love requires presence. And in a world still grappling with traumatic grief, social disconnection, and uncertainty, being a person who embodies love is more than a vibe — it’s a mission.
Let it be yours too.
3. Joy Is the Best Form of Protest
In a world that often teaches us to shrink, choosing joy is revolutionary.
“Living Proof” was written in the still moments between leaving an abusive relationship, and the trauma that that brought with it; and the turning of a new leaf toward a happier, healthier future. It’s my reminder that joy, even when hard-earned, is a form of resistance. It’s how we stay alive.
I’ve learned that we don’t just grieve the absence of others — we grieve the moments we didn’t let ourselves fully live. The moments we gave away to fear, shame, or silence.
Choosing joy isn’t denial. It’s defiance. It’s how we create signs of life in the aftermath of pain. It’s how we rewire our brain to feel alive again. Joy is sacred. And every time you sing, dance, laugh, or create, you’re reclaiming your existence.
4. Our Lives Aren’t a Book — They’re an Album
Our lives don’t follow a single storyline. They unfold in verses and hooks, bridges and breakdowns — each moment creating a unique genre that represents who we’ve been and who we’re becoming.
“Puppet” is one of my most vulnerable songs, written to explore the different identities I’ve performed for the world, and while the song specifically references our inner masculine, feminine and animal selves; it’s important to honor our entire self. The child. The fighter. The artist. The leader.
We all shapeshift to survive, but music allows us to reclaim those parts and give them harmony.
In grieving, I’ve found that our lives aren’t measured by chapters, but by the songs we leave behind. By the content we create. By the courage to write, sing, and perform even through the pain.
Your life is an album. Make sure it’s one worth listening to.
5. We Are Who We Surround Ourselves With
Grief teaches us how vital our circle is.
My song “Together We Rise” is a direct response to the friends, fans, and family who have carried me when I couldn’t carry myself. My late friend embodied this. She cheered the loudest, loved the hardest, and showed up without being asked.
Support in times of grieving doesn’t always look like grand gestures. Sometimes it’s a text, a song, a memory, a moment of silence. But those small acts of love become the soundtrack to healing. They remind us that we’re not alone in our emotions. That we don’t have to survive by ourselves.
And in a world where connection can feel fleeting, community is everything.
6. Even at Our Lowest, There’s Always Something to Be Grateful For
Gratitude doesn’t erase the pain, but it shifts our focus. It gives us a flashlight when everything feels dark.
“Smile” was born out of inspiration from Margo Vader: “If you can’t see the light; be the light”. I wrote it to remind myself that the feeling of hope still exists even when the world feels dark or overwhelming. That even in moments of grief, the sun still rises, the music still plays, and our heart still beats. Gratitude keeps us anchored in what’s real. And as we move through the grieving process — whatever shape it takes for each person — gratitude becomes a quiet but steady form of survival.
It’s the background melody that helps us remember we are still here. Still alive. Still able to create, to love, and to, again, hope
7. We’ve Survived 100% of Our Worst Days So Far
The grieving process is messy, full of questions, feelings, and moments where control feels out of reach. But survival? That’s strength. And that strength lives in the body, in the brain, in the very act of continuing.
Through every sign of absence, every drop of sadness, there’s proof: you’re still here. Still fighting.
And that is enough.
8. You Never Know Whose Lives You’ve Impacted
“Superhero” was inspired by those quiet warriors — friends, mentors, even strangers — who’ve touched lives in ways they’ll never know.
My friend was one of them.
Her kindness, her laughter, her belief in others… it mattered. She mattered. Grief often pulls us inward, but sometimes, remembering the lives we’ve affected pulls us back toward hope. It reminds us that just by existing, we’ve made ripples.
You don’t need a million followers or a new single on the charts to be powerful. Being there for someone — even once — can change a life.
9. It’s Never Too Late to Start Again or Start Something New
Bravery isn’t always about battle — it’s about belief.
Grieving often leaves us questioning our identity, our direction, even our ability to move forward. But there are multiple ways to rebuild. Maybe it’s writing a song, trying a new genre, joining a band, talking to a friend, or simply choosing to breathe with more intention. Starting something new honors both the past and the future. It says: I may be hurting, but I’m still open to joy. To life. To love.
10. Mindset Is Everything, and Love Conquers All
My song “The Wolf I Feed” is all about choice.
In grief, in healing, in leadership, and in life — what we focus on expands. We can choose to dwell in what we’ve lost, or we can use that absence as fuel to create, connect, and contribute. The idea isn’t to bypass the pain — it’s to process it with purpose.
Love, as a mindset and a practice, has the ability to rewire our brains, anchor our emotions, and remind us who we are even when the world feels uncertain. Love wins — not just in fairytales, but in real, messy, musical life.
Grief doesn’t follow a straight path. There are multiple ways to process the pain. For some people, it’s talking. For others, it’s crying. For me, it’s doing all of those things… but then leaning into music — transforming my emotions into lyrics, body aches into melody, absence into harmony.
If you’ve lost someone recently, know this: you’re not alone. And the most powerful tribute we can offer those who’ve passed isn’t silence — it’s legacy. It’s how we choose to live, love, and lead. Not someday. But today.
Because as I’ve learned from my surgeries, my scars, my songs — and the people who’ve stood by me: survival isn’t just about merely staying alive. It’s about choosing to be fully, fiercely, unapologetically present.
If this resonated with you, explore my new releases and more at emmagmusic.com, and join me in turning grief into growth, one song at a time by perhaps reaching out about turning your pain into power.
