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Veronica Rubio

@veronica_j19

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She died today.

Not actually today. But the calendar doesn’t understand that grief has no concept of linear time. Seven years can feel like 7 minutes.

The truth is, I carry the dull pain of her absence every day, like a permanent shadow that follows me everywhere. Some days, it just hits harder.

Today, the reality of her absence pressed against my lungs, as if the gravity of the entire day had dragged me down into the emptiness she left behind. It still feels impossible that my life has carried on without her in it.

Sometimes I try to outrun her memory. I block it out, as if somehow, by refusing to think about her, I could erase the devastating emptiness she left behind.

But you can’t outrun an ocean.

Looking at this photo of me, pregnant with Giancarlo, the emptiness feels darker.

She was there. Guiding me to the edge of motherhood, ready to pass the torch. She knew a secret I didn’t.

She knew I was about to experience the same kind of love she had for me.

But I had no idea then how much she loved me. How much I needed her. Or how much I would eventually miss her.

The most heartbreakingly beautiful thing about losing her is the way it rewired my heart.

I look at my kids and feel a love so fierce and consuming that it hurts.

And I realize what I’m doing in those quiet moments when I look at them.

I’m searching for her.

Part of me is trying to hold on to pieces of my mom by building a fortress of love around my children.

Every way in which I love them is just her love passing through me.

Twenty-seven years ago, she was preparing me to love like this.

But now, this legacy is a heavy thing to carry alone.

She’s no longer here to hold my hand or wrap her arms around me. But she is entirely present in the way I love them.

Tonight, the truth bleeds through.

I’m just a daughter.

Still grieving.
Still missing her.
Still wishing I could have my mom.

So now, in the absence of the space she used to fill, I keep her alive the only way I know how:

By loving them as deeply, intentionally, and purposefully as she loved me.

Because maybe that was the torch she was passing to me all those years ago.

And maybe this is how I carry it. by @veronica_j19

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8 hours ago

The hardest part of losing my dad wasn’t letting him go…

It was learning how to live through all the years that he was supposed to still be here with us. The supposed-to-be’s are so hard.

Sixteen years of birthdays, milestones, hard seasons, new babies, heartbreaks, laughter, and just ordinary days he was supposed to be a part of. Moments he never got to see. Lives he no longer gets to be a part of. The supposed-to-be’s…

That’s what grief really is.

Not just missing the person you lost, but missing every moment you were supposed to have with them. 🖤 by @veronica_j19

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23 days ago

Seven years ago, I was in the hardest season of my life. I was struggling emotionally, physically & financially.

My kids were in a private Christian school but I had no idea how I was going to keep them there. I didn’t have the money or the answers. I was scared, overwhelmed & constantly praying for wisdom, peace & a way forward.

One day, as I drove to pick them up, the song “Promises Never Fail” came on. At the same time I saw a rainbow stretched right over their school. It felt like God was reminding me that His promises wouldn’t fail me & we were going to be okay even if I didn’t know how yet. I took a picture & started to cry. I sensed His presence so tangibly. I heard Him. I felt His comfort. I was completely overwhelmed by the nearness of God.

Last week I saw another rainbow over their school. I took a picture because it was beautiful, but I didn’t think much about it until later. While making my bed, I heard the words, “Promises Never Fail,” as clearly as if someone were in the room. Instantly I understood.

Seven years ago, I was desperate for God so I recognized His presence right away. But today I’ve become so used to His provision that I’ve forgotten to be amazed by it.

I’m still here. My kids are still in a Christian school. God is still providing. The things I once begged Him for have become my everyday life. I’m on the other side of the darkness now. The side I prayed for. I don’t miss the hardship of what it was, but I do miss the way I looked at God then. With complete dependence, trust & overwhelming gratitude.

Seven years later, the rainbow reminded me: Don’t take His faithfulness for granted. Seven. The biblical number of fullness and completion. I’m far from complete, but God has brought me full circle. His grace carried me. His mercy sustained me. His promises came true.

Hard days will come again. They always do. But I don’t want to wait for them to be amazed by God again.

That was the lesson for me and my prayer for you: Don’t only recognize God when you’re desperate for Him. Find Him in the ordinary. Hear Him in the silence. Notice Him in the provision. And never stop being amazed—even when the miracles become monotone.

Amen. 🌈 by @veronica_j19

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a month ago

Growth, gratitude, and greatness. ♥️ New season. New goals. Same fire. Season 15… here she comes. 🔥🔥🔥 by @veronica_j19

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2 months ago

This is it. But it’s not all of it. I can show you the performances & awards, but how do I capture what makes it so special?

It’s the weeklong sleepover with her best friends. The fun car ride with a pit stop at Raising Canes. The pool parties & late-night laughter. Discovering Dutch Bros. The nerves before walking on stage but getting out there anyway. The panic when she thought she’d let her team down…only to win first place anyway. The bun falling out onstage (my bad 🫣). The light switch breaking off in her hand while performing. Practicing outside when the hotel was evacuated because of a fire alarm.

Jasmine comforting her when she thought she messed up. The excitement of hearing her solos get the ID icon buzzer…twice. The pride of becoming a Faculty Assistant for the first time. The tears of joy when Bohemian Rhapsody finished undefeated all season. Running around the hotel lobby with her friends doing absolutely nothing but making memories the way teenage girls do. Meeting Abby Lee Miller.

Winning is a small part of it but it’s not what will stay with her the most. You can’t fit friendship on a trophy. You can’t print hard work on a banner. You can’t hang moments on a wall.

These aren’t just dance memories. They’re life memories.

My goal isn’t just for her to be a great dancer. That’s the summit, but it’s the climb that’s transforming her. Success is the punctuation mark on the story I want her to write for herself. But it’s not the story itself.

My goal is for her to become the best version of herself on & off stage. To give her a childhood full of friendship, laughter, resilience & unforgettable memories. To see her confidence grow & learn what it means to be a team player.

I want her to know what hard work feels like. To lose gracefully & win with humility. To be brave enough to fail. To discover that resilience is born in the moments you least want to endure. To do hard things even when she’s scared. To keep her physically active so she’s not just staring at screens all day.

Dance is giving her all of that.

I can show you what dance nationals looked like. But I really wish you could see what it felt by @veronica_j19

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3 months ago

“Is competitive dance worth it?”

It’s a question dance parents hear all the time, and I understand why people ask. I think sometimes we ask ourselves the same thing.

The hours are long. The days are busy. The financial commitment is significant. The sacrifices are real. And after all that, when our girls don’t do well at competition, or even when they think they don’t, their heartbreak becomes ours. There are moments when it feels exhausting on every level, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s all worth it.

The truth is, I don’t keep doing this because of the scores, trophies, medals, or banners. I barely remember most of them.
And while I love watching her perform, that’s not really why either. It’s something deeper than that. Dance has given me a front-row seat to the person she’s becoming.

I’ve watched her learn that losing doesn’t make her a loser and winning doesn’t make her better than anyone else. I’ve watched her handle disappointment, push through challenges, work toward goals that don’t come easily, and get back up after setbacks. I’ve seen confidence replace doubt, resilience replace discouragement, and determination replace frustration. I’ve seen her do things even when she’s scared.

There are plenty of sports that teach discipline, resilience, teamwork, and perseverance. But dance is different. Dance asks Jaylah to be an athlete and an artist at the same time. It requires strength and vulnerability. Precision and creativity. Confidence and humility. It asks her to communicate without words, to tell stories through movement, and to share pieces of herself on stage in front of strangers.

There’s something extraordinary about watching your child discover not only what her body is capable of doing, but what her heart is capable of expressing.

One day the competitions will end. The costumes will be packed. The money will be spent. This season of life will be over.

But the friendships, memories, lessons, discipline, courage, and confidence she’s carrying with her won’t end when the music does.

So if you’re asking me whether competitive dance is worth it?

Absolutely.

But not because of what she’s achieving. Because of who she’s becoming. 🧡 by @veronica_j19

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3 months ago

Summer is officially here.

One day they’ll remember the freedom of it.

They’ll reminisce about their friendship. The way they rode bike in the neighborhood, or played basketball in the neighbor’s driveway. How they swam all day and then played more basketball. How they came inside when it got too hot or they wanted a popsicle. From hide and seek to Marco Polo…they’ll remember the long summer nights that felt like they would last forever. Staying up and sleeping in. They’ll remember it their own way.

But I’ll just remember them like this.

That’s the thing about childhood. For them it’s about welcoming everything for the first time, but for us as parents it’s about saying goodbye to it all every day.

So welcome, summer.

Please slow down.

☀️ by @veronica_j19

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4 months ago

Sometimes I miss the way I thought about motherhood before I became a mom.

I miss the innocence of it.

I remember imagining what my children would be like. What our days would look like. The traditions we’d have. The memories we’d make. I thought motherhood would be beautiful, exhausting, fulfilling, and hard.

And it is.

But it’s also something I never could have prepared for. Because no one can explain what it feels like to love someone this much.

No one can explain what it feels like to have your heart literally living outside of your body. Or what it’s like to spend years pouring every ounce of yourself into another human being. To give them your time, your sleep, your energy, your identity, your dreams, your prayers, your entire heart—and then somehow find yourself wanting to give even more, even though you know that they will never give back, or love you as much as you love them.

When they’re babies, you think your job is to raise a child. But what you never really think about is that you’re raising a future stranger. A future adult. You’re investing your all into someone who will spend less and less time needing you. Someone who will outgrow you.

So these days, when I see a new mom holding her baby, I feel emotional for reasons I never used to. Because she has no idea what lies ahead. She has no idea that the love she feels today is only the beginning. That it will grow so much deeper every year. More complicated. More beautiful. And heavier.

She doesn’t know that her greatest joy and her greatest vulnerability have just become the same person.

She doesn’t know that this tiny baby will break her heart a thousand times—not through cruelty, but simply by growing up and needing her less.

She’s going to miss the sweetness of those early days. She’s going to miss the simplicity of loving a little baby.

So if I could go back and tell that younger version of myself one thing, it would be this:

Hold on tight. You think you know how much you love them.

You don’t. Not yet.

This love is going to become something far bigger than you can imagine.

Wait until you see what it becomes.

This love will be the most beautiful heartbreak of your life. 🤍 by @veronica_j19

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4 months ago

Don’t you sometimes wish you could take every hard-earned lesson, every scar, every piece of wisdom life forced into you… and somehow place it into your children before the world has a chance to hurt them with it first?

I know the hardest lessons are usually the ones that stay with us the longest. I know they’ll have to grow in their own way, in their own time, through their own mistakes, heartbreaks, disappointments, and realizations. I know some truths can only be understood once life makes them personal.

But still…

Sometimes I wish my wisdom could protect them more. I wish my pain could carry a greater purpose than just changing me. I wish the things that broke my heart could spare theirs. And I wish they could inherit the understanding without first inheriting the wound.

There are just some lessons I would give anything for my children to learn gently instead of painfully.

What are some truths you wish your kids could understand now before life teaches them the hard way? 🤎 by @veronica_j19

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4 months ago

Some pictures seem to capture a second where time is standing still but also somehow also prove how fast it’s moving.

And I think that’s what’s breaking my heart so slowly these days. I keep catching glimpses of the parts of him that are fading from me.

His face is still soft. His voice hasn’t changed yet. And he hasn’t crossed over into those obvious teenage years.

But I can feel it coming anyway.

These in-between years have a hold on a different part of me.

These aren’t the loud milestones that I’m used to. It’s not so obvious. It’s not like his first steps or first days of school. It’s a lot quieter than that. It’s softer. It’s sneakier.

It’s realizing he still looks little, but somehow doesn’t feel little the same way anymore.

He’s somewhere in the middle of two very distinct chapters. He’s no longer fully a little boy but he’s not fully a man either.

He’s just suspended in this place for now, but not for long. In that tender space between boyhood and becoming. And this is it. It’s almost here.

The years are coming at me fast. I feel it.

This is the edge of boyhood.

The last slow stretch before everything begins to change.

———-
Photo by @courtside_kids by @veronica_j19

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4 months ago

One day they hold your hand. The next day they walk away with your heart.

This was them walking into school for the very first time this year. And now somehow the school year is already over.

It’s strange how fast life moves when you’re measuring it in school years, backpacks, and hallway walks. It’s strange how your heart breaks and bursts with pride at the exact same time watching them become more independent with every step they take away from you.

I swear it feels like life as a parent is just learning how to hold on, while time keeps forcing you to let go. It’s a constant contradiction. You spend years teaching them how to become independent…while grieving every tiny piece of childhood they leave behind along the way.

I used to walk them in to school. Now I just watch them walk away.

As much as it hurts sometimes to watch them go, I hope they keep walking forward with confidence, knowing no matter how far they go, how big this world gets, or what’s waiting around the corner for them, I will always be standing behind them, watching them, cheering for them, loving them endlessly, and praying for them…long after they stop looking back for me. 🩷

#lifeletters by @veronica_j19

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4 months ago

Here’s the thing about middle school. It’s this tiny little window wedged right between childhood and adulthood. They’re technically teenagers, but in so many ways, they’re still little kids.

One minute they want independence, and the next they still want you to sit next to them while they fall asleep. It’s this strange in-between stage where they’re trying to figure themselves out while we’re trying to figure out how to parent them through it all.

And right now, with Jaylah heading into 8th grade and Tony into 7th, I feel like I’m standing right in the middle of it all. Watching one slowly get closer to high school while the other is just stepping into these middle school years. Two different stages. Two different kids. Two different sets of emotions and growing pains.

And even though I’ve parented through these years before, somehow it still feels completely new. Because every child is different. What worked for one doesn’t always work for another. Their personalities are different, their struggles are different, and honestly… I’m different too.

And to make it even more complicated it’s just three short years. That’s it. Three short transitional years in between two very significant versions of life. Just when you finally start figuring out how to parent them through it, they outgrow it. Suddenly they’re in high school, changing all over again, and you’re learning them in a completely new way.

If you’re parenting middle schoolers too, tell me I’m not the only one figuring this out as I go. I love this beautiful in between season but it sure can be confusing sometimes. by @veronica_j19

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4 months ago