Prelude-The Beginning

This prelude episode introduces me and dives into my backstory regarding my grief after losing my mom recently. I share my beliefs and how I went from pure skeptic to being more open to all things spirit and magical, and the inner workings of my traumatized mind. I also share a poetic lens of my life with my mom, Eva Villaverde Krieg and her impact on not just me but the world. 

Music: Ever So Blue by Hearth, and Pull Me out by Mike Stringer Featuring Christine Smit

Contact Info
Existentialcrisisandchillpod@gmail.com

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:01

Hey, my name is Jacinta, and this is my podcast about my existential crisis turned to spiritual awakening after losing my mom and watching her pass away in front of me. I was a materialist and skeptic for most of my adult life, despite being raised Roman Catholic. I don't agree with organized religion for myself as I find it oppressive, but I don't think spirituality and religion are one in the same. I have many loved ones that believe in religion, and that's the right, but my own spiritual journey is about reclaiming my sovereignty and intuition. Think of this podcast as an audio diary and love letter to my mom. I'm going to interview different psychics, spiritual leaders, and everyday people to find out how to connect with the loved ones in spirit, understand our intuitive abilities, and find magic amongst the chaos of life. This introduction is to give you a better understanding of the timeline of events leading up to and after my mom's death, and to paint a rich and vivid picture of my life and how much it's shaped me. I'm going to find my mom. For those of you sad babes who have lost anyone or going through an existential crisis of your own, maybe you'll find something in this podcast that sparks something in you. Overall, this audio adventure, it's gonna involve using my humor, my heart, and my delusional thoughts to guide you as a listener through my story and my experiences. My mom passed away on September 26th in 2025. As I'm finishing up this first episode, it's about six months after her passing. The first few months, I legitimately went insane. By no means am I claiming sanity currently, but boy, what a time. I was skeptical and obviously in agony because I didn't believe in anything. My first interview with Sherry Perbeck was in November around Thanksgiving. So not even two months after my mom passed away, and I was very internally resistant to Sherry's beliefs at first. I think that's important to share because it's the reality of what people might experience. I obviously have changed my tune and my spiritual awakening happened months after this interview. I respect Sherry, and she is legit and talented, but this is in here, this whole snippet, to show you the validity in my experience, and that even though I'm a great conversationalist overall, my thought process was that I didn't believe initially. So my fellow skeptics, I get you, but give it time. I started meditating in February of 2026, so this year. And that along with making an honest effort to connect with my mom and spirit, my spirit homies, as I call them, those experiences have rewired my brain and led to a spiritual awakening. I've interacted with what I believe are spirit energies in many different ways that I will dive into in future episodes. I get it. Where is the proof? It's really easy to be a skeptic in today's world, and I understand that line of thinking completely. But as somebody that has experienced both sides of it, I'm telling you, maybe there's a different way to go about it. So I currently, as of today, in April of 2026, believe that our brains act as a filter for our reality and our perception and also our potential intuitive abilities. I think that as we learn more about different people's sensitivities and how certain techniques and tools rewire our brain to allow us to be more perceptive, we can then better understand that science and spirituality aren't necessarily two opposing forces, but rather two concepts that can work together to illuminate the veil and to bridge the gap between worlds. So maybe along the way we'll figure all this out together. As an important side note, the patriarchy sucks, and I think the patriarchy is responsible for our modern day misunderstanding and lack of connection with our intuitive and spiritual abilities. Now, here's a glimpse into my origin story. A city surrounded by lush green hills and mountains, and a culture rich with warmth and community. She grew up as a daughter of a farmer and a business owner, an eventual teacher, Jacinta or Jacinta Samaniego, who was my grandmother who I'm named after. Her father was Aurelio Villa Verde, who was a teacher as well as an eventual lawyer. I never met either of my grandparents, but I know they greatly influence and help shape my mom and her life in a positive way. She had a sister, Renee, who was an eye doctor, despite her autoimmune condition that eventually took her ability to walk and her life, as well as a brother, Olympio, who is an architect. My mom had so much in her life that she had overcome. Despite all her hardships, she is somebody that has one of the most generous hearts I've ever known. My mom was a trailblazer. Not only for Peru, but for women. She is the first Peruvian woman to get a PhD in psychology in the United States. She, along with other talented Peruvian women, helped lay the foundation and carve a new path for not only women's academic achievement and success, but the field of psychology overall. She has five degrees, including two masters and one PhD, her PhD being in educational psychology and management, with a minor in organizational behavior and human resources. She came to the US initially with a Fulbright Scholarship and learned a whole different language, being English. She worked as a consultant to the United Nations World Bank Project on Management and Human Resources Development, which was an organizational training program in Bolivia. She eventually taught psychology and Spanish at multiple universities, including the University of Cincinnati. My dad, who I consider from Baltimore, Maryland, but was initially born in New York, was also raised by a great family. My mom and my dad met in Washington, D.C. at a grad school convention when she was walking to it and he was riding a car. He tried to offer her a ride as she was walking by, and she said to him, I don't know you, you're a stranger. He supposedly replied with something along the lines of, My name's Eddie, so I'm not a stranger anymore. My dad also has multiple degrees, was extremely talented at basketball, and has written so many published research papers, and is the type of dude to not mention it because he's humble and he doesn't fully grasp how smart he is. Well, months later, after their initial meeting, they were married, and down the line, my twin brother Edward and I came along. My childhood was a wonderland of good experiences and adventures. Things weren't always easy for me, but I look back now and I see it as a magical time. My relationship with my mom was passionate, and although we didn't always get along as some mothers and daughters do, there was so much ferocity in her love for her family and my love for her. We are both strong-willed women with opinions who let people know about them. My twin brother and I had the most caring parents one could have and are so lucky to have all the wonder, creativity, and laughter we had, not just with each other, but with our parents and other family members. Like I said, things weren't always easy. I didn't know I was neurodivergent until I was an adult. So growing up very sensitive to the world around me was challenging at times. I don't blame my parents for not knowing, but I think that's had something to do with why things were so hard for me, especially emotionally. And although things were also fantastic, I think it paints an accurate picture of why I felt so emotionally unstable at times. I can see both and recognize that my heightened sensitivity and struggles only made me more empathetic and stronger. My mom was my biggest supporter, and she always encouraged her students and Edward and I that we could do anything we put our minds to. She called me a champion all the time. She said we could literally change the world. She really believed in people in a way you don't see anymore. You can understand why it would be so devastating to lose somebody with so much life and heart and fire in their soul. My mom gone in front of me as I struggled to breathe and comprehend how something like that can be real. Edward, my twin brother, and I were always being little shits in the best way. We were witty, rambunctious kiddos with a zest for life, and we were always up to something: a project, scheming, organizing the neighborhood kids to all play games and run around well into our teenage years. We had it good, and we know we did. We were always involved in sports, which to this day I credit my parents for my healthy love of exercise. I'm currently a personal trainer and I enjoy helping people learn to exercise in a way that suits them best and works with things like hypermobility and not against it. So I grew up Roman Catholic, and most of my adult life I've been an atheist and a materialist. I currently live in Portland or have for at least the last seven years now, and I went back many times over the last few years, especially, and spent a third of 2025 in Cincinnati, Ohio to be with my mom. I learned in my adult life that she had lupus when I was a kid and supposedly it was in remission. But my mom had progressive lung issues that started five or so years ago that kept getting worse. We think that the lupus had a role to play as it's a full-body disease, and her connective tissue around her lungs was scarred and the disease was it was brutal. I watched my mom, who was full of life and passion and always loving. I watched her struggle to walk and to breathe. I watched her cough up blood many times. We still don't know the rare lung disease, they think is mainly responsible for her death, but she fought so hard. And I'm so proud of her for that and trying her best in spite of fear and pain. Last year I started taking off in my personal training career. I lost many nights of sleep and spent the past few years dealing with my body and my brain being in fight or flight mode constantly, as I would get many calls from my mom and parents that my mom was in the hospital again. She was hospitalized at least 20 times last year. And I was always worried that I would lose her. I would cry in between clients and have panic attacks at night. The time when I wanted to have my parents celebrate me, finally figuring things out and finding my passion was intertwined with the reality of my mom dying in front of me, and the buildup over years of grieving someone slowly, but having hope they'll somehow make it. You never think it will be your person that goes. It's it's our story, and she's a part of it, so she can't leave yet, right? I am 32. It's not what I want to happen. There's so much I wanted my mom to experience with me. My own business one day, if I ever get married, my wedding, my brother having kids. She would have loved to be a grandparent. She loved children so much. What I miss most is her laugh and her voice, her hands against mine, and her undeniable presence. I miss all the stuff I took for granted and having somebody believe in me in a way only mothers can. By the end of last summer, her progression was getting worse, and I visited for a few months and then I left to go back to Portland because she was trying all the best cutting-edge medication, and she came back home from the hospital. So I had hope. I got a call from my dad saying we are going to hospice my mom a few months after that at home. And he didn't necessarily expect me to be there, but I wanted to. It can still be hopeful, he said, but it's not getting better, and they don't want her to go to the hospital anymore. I planned on having months with my mom, at least based off of how she was doing. After talking with my dad, I booked a flight, being defeated, but trying to be brave for her and make the most of it for us. The same day I landed, she actively started to die. When I got there, I looked at the red door that has been there as a constant throughout my life. Thinking of all the times I walked through it before, all the times I spent with my mom on the porch, thinking of my mom's hats as she would walk the neighborhood with a smile, the firewood always next to the door, and the green bushes that covered our porch. The day I got there, I never got to have a conversation with her. We got my brother to fly in that night. We were both jet lagged, tired from no sleep, and going into shock. My dad had been doing such a good job of working on his job still and caring for her. Being a caretaker to your spouse is a tiring role that can be so crushing. And I so deeply admire my dad for everything he did for her and for us. My dad, brother, and I spent the whole day with her, crying, talking, singing to her, telling her how amazing she was. A hospice nurse was there to help the whole time as well. We listened to Peruvian music, and she held a stuffed llama that reminded her of her home. My brother and I read to her a Spanish book she read to us all the time as kids, one of many of Sapo y Sepo, two frogs who were inseparable and had many adventures together. I studied my mom's face, vowing to never forget it, the warm glow of her skin and lines from all her smiles she gave us, her beauty marks and her perfect eyebrows, the fact that she put lipstick on and she could barely hold anything to feel beautiful. I looked at her so intensely, in such disbelief. I asked her to please not leave me, as my voice whimpered. I took turns giving her pain medication, and she only opened her eyes once, but it's like she saw past me for a second. Supposedly before I came, she was talking to her mom and Renee, her sister, who had passed, but was upright having conversations with them. It was the most heart-wrenching, painful, fucked up, beautiful honor and experience I've ever had. My mom, who brought me into this world and almost died giving birth to us, was now leaving. In the same bedroom I would cuddle up to her in when I was scared of the dark, where I would play pretend doctor with Edward and be Dr. Purple, and he was Dr. Green, and we would run across the house with a stethoscope, diagnosing my parents with made-up ailments and then making it all better. The same room where I would admire my mom's clothes, her silk scarves, and how she was known for her fashion sense, especially her beautiful hats. My favorite was the straw one she would always wear with a black ribbon around it. The same room where Edward and I would put on my 6'5 dad's clothes and stack ourselves on top of each other like raccoons dressed up in a trench coat to greet him after he came home from work. All of those memories and lifetimes of experiences that have been interwoven through that house and that bedroom. The house I grew up in was becoming a stranger to me. The world seemed like it wasn't making sense. I became untethered to life as I watched my mom who raised me leave. It was the longest day of my life, and I'll never forget it. She squeezed Edwards and my hands at the same time like she was saying bye to her twins for the last time. She got pal and was making noises to breathe the whole time she was passing. The hospice nurse assured she wasn't in any pain anymore while she was in hospice, and I kept looking at her, my heart beating a million times per second, my knees digging into the off-white fuzzy carpet I used to crawl and as a kid feeling the burn of it and the fear that was encompassing my heart. I told my mom, whose soul wanted me to believe in an afterlife, and we would argue about it often. I told her that I believed in it and that I would see her again. I whispered it in her ear. I told her it's okay that Renee and your parents are waiting for you, and they are so happy to see you, Mom. I told her, don't worry about us, that I would take care of my dad and brother, and of course I wanted her to stay, but she should be happy and that she's gonna go to heaven and she'll be safe. I lied. I didn't believe in an afterlife. I so desperately wanted there to be one. I wanted my mom to be comfortable and happy and to feel safe. As I cried and was brave and terrified, I lied to make her feel okay, to make her happy. My brother was heating up something to eat in the kitchen next to my parents' bedroom. I was still on the floor, petting my mom's face, holding her hand as I watched her breathing fade out. I yelled for my brother and dad across the room. She's gone. I think my mom just died, I said, as I looked at her and us at each other. I felt her body turn cold, pale, I heard no more breaths, and stared in horror at my mom's lifeless body. My dad, who hadn't been one for showing others his emotions, saw me and said it's okay as he whimpered, we have to let her go. My brother, dad, and I sobbed as we took turns kissing her, saying goodbye, and thanking her for everything. We waited for the coroner to come as the hospice nurse and officiator of death, did their jobs. I watched as my dad privately said goodbye to his wife and life partner of over 35 years. As I felt like a child looking for an adult in the room to make it all better. Nobody tells you how weird it is in between someone's death and the time between that and their body being picked up. Two men who had kind eyes came to move her and prepare her for the future funeral. My brother couldn't watch them move her, so we left the room as my dad and I stared on as these men moved my mom's body onto a gurney. The sound her body made as it flopped onto it, I will never forget. I'll never get it out of my head. The thud was strong and piercing. I felt so protective over her and wanted to grab her and just take her away from these strangers. But I watched them pick up her body and move it into a hearse. I followed them onto my driveway with my brother, racing outside. As they picked up her body and put it in the car, I told them to please take good care of her. They said, Absolutely, we will, ma'am. We're so sorry for your loss. I stood there as my brother put his hands on my shoulders, looking out at our neighborhood that we grew up in, and our life that was uniquely ours, thanks to our loving mom and dad who gave us the world. All of the sleepless nights with friends on the driveway, the summer street soccer and walking to the pool, my mom forcing us to go inside for our bedtimes, all the skyline chili, and fireflies and drewing about my future, all the fights with my mom and the makeups, the graduations, the trouble with the law in my end, the talks with my best friend Lindsay on the driveway, the sneaking out, the tree climbing, the fort building, the snow days with sledding and bright sun and breaks with James Bond on GameCube. My mom making us my favorite snack, green apples with tons of lemon juice, the sick days, the vacation. My aunt in her ramp for her wheelchair when she would visit from Peru. The looking up at the night sky and wondering what I would make of myself. The wanting to run away. The wanting to make my parents proud. The razor scooter hitting my ankle constantly as we played that would send shockwaves of any kid's spine. The green minivan that my dad had. The license plate read BD23XL. And yes, my brother and I thought that was hilarious. The dance recitals, the tennis camps, the Girl Scout meetings. The time my brother was in Boy Scouts and was carving a stick with a knife and sliced his finger open and had to get stitches. The times we played Freedom, a similar version of Capture the Flag but with People's Flags in a sense. Around the side of our house and our neighbors, the Henry's. The time I schemed my dad for more allowance for subpar car washing. The smell of fresh cut grass after my dad mowed the lawn on a summer day. The thunderstorms and the feeling and the smell of the wet pavement as I would run to Lindsay's house through a few yards. The neighborhood kids that we grew up with that collectively shared what I considered the best childhood one could ask for. The tackle football, where I would tackle boys three times my size, even breaking my pinky toe in the process. The way my mom would light up when we would come home from school. The forts in the living room with my brother and mom, where we would all tuck ourselves away to playhouse together. My dad would come home from work in a suit and smile at us. The trips to Peru, Ocean City, New Jersey, Baltimore, Maryland. The sound of my mom's voice as she would call me in front of in front of playing too long. She would say with a smile. Sometimes she would be annoyed if I didn't listen. I used to get so irritated at her, but I would give anything to hear her call me again. All the triumphs, all the tears, all the little moments that are actually the big moments looking back. They finished loading my mom up, and my brother and I saw our childhood leave with my mom, knowing we would never be the same. My heart died a thousand times that day. I wiped my tears and walked inside and closed the red door behind me.

SPEAKER_00 24:30

I'm not that good at faking it. I feel somehow I've broken it. I don't believe I'm part of it.