When I first read the news that Emman, the beautiful and brilliant daughter of my friend, TV host Kim Atienza, had passed away, I froze. As a mother of a 16-year-old and a 22-year-old, my heart shattered. You immediately put yourself in the shoes of the parent—the unbearable thought of losing your child, the desperate wish that you could have done something, said something, held them just a little longer. No parent should ever have to bury their child.

Kim and his wife, Felicia, have always been a family I have admired deeply—grounded, faith-filled, loving. When the Atienza family released their message, asking for compassion, understanding, and prayers, I could feel both their pain and grace. They chose not to dwell on the tragedy, but on Emman’s life—a life that, though brief, inspired countless young people through her authenticity and courage to speak about her struggles with mental health.

Scrolling through Emman’s social media, I found myself in tears. Her posts were filled with vulnerability, wisdom, and a kind of sadness that too many young people today carry silently. She once wrote about how “it’s becoming harder to be authentic” online. Behind every smiling photo, there may be a soul crying for understanding.

As someone who was once a bullied child myself, I know what it’s like to carry invisible wounds. I was that awkward little girl who was laughed at for my looks, my hair, and my attempts to fit in. I found refuge in humor—my way of surviving, my defense mechanism, my light in the darkness. But back then, bullying ended at 3 pm because it was dismissal time. Today, it follows our children home through their phones—an endless loop of comparison, judgment, and noise. That’s why Emman’s courage to talk about depression, anxiety, and self-doubt should not be forgotten. She gave voice to what many teens feel but cannot articulate.

She was not weak; she was fighting an invisible battle that so many lose because we, as a society, still whisper about mental illness as if it were shameful.

As parents, we must listen not just to our children’s words, but to their silences. We must be the safe place they can fall into when the world feels too harsh. And as friends, classmates, or even strangers online, we can choose kindness. Every comment, every post, every message can either heal or harm. To my dear friend Kim, there are no words deep enough to console your pain. But may you find solace knowing your daughter’s story will save lives—because she reminded us all to be gentler, to love louder, and to never take a single heartbeat for granted.

Fly free, Emman. The world will remember your light—even when it becomes too heavy to carry.