April 7, 2025
Five years ago today, I was in my NYC apartment, working from home for NY1.
It was the kind of day that had become routine during the pandemic: back-to-back Zoom interviews, writing from my kitchen table, editing scripts between texts and takeout. After logging off, I changed into workout clothes and joined a Zumba class on Zoom—a little way to disconnect, to shake the heaviness off.
Then my phone rang.
It was my brother.
And with just a few words, everything stopped.
My dad had passed away.
It was the height of the pandemic. No flights. No hugs. No way to get home.
No goodbye.
What followed was a stretch of time I still don’t fully remember. Grief is funny that way.
It fogs up your memory while sharpening your regrets.
Because almost immediately, my thoughts spiraled—not just around the loss, but around the choices.
How much of my life I had poured into my career.
How many calls I’d ignored. How many “not nows” I gave when my dad wanted to talk.
Because I was writing. Chasing a lead. Telling someone else’s story.
But what about ours?
We had projects we never finished.
Ideas left hanging.
Moments I assumed we’d get to… later.
Later never came.
And yet in the silence, I began hearing him more clearly.
In my writing.
In the way I walk between cultures—Colombia and Spain—carrying both with pride.
In the way I lead with curiosity and conviction.
In the way I create.
My dad moved through the world with imagination, depth, and that unshakable sense of cultural identity.
And as I always tell my sister, we’re not just his kids—we’re his continuation.
Somos el resultado de su mente creativa y cultural.
We are what remains. We are what moves forward.
Five years later, the pain hasn’t disappeared. But it has transformed.
And these days, I try to show up for the people I love with more intention.
I try to call back. To answer. To pause the story I’m chasing and remember the one I’m still living.
Thanks for reading, for remembering, and for sitting with me today.
Te extraño, papá.
Hoy, siempre, y en todo lo que soy.
—José ☕️
José Martínez 