The 10 Ninety Podcast

In this episode of The 10 Ninety Podcast, Mason sits down with Kamisha Allen and Brie Osha. Kamisha lost her son J'Wan 12 years ago at the Salt River in Phoenix, Arizona. Brie lost her two-year-old son Romeo to a drowning accident at an apartment complex in Tracy, California. Both of them know a grief most people around them will never understand.
Kamisha talks about the fog that came over her, the service she planned in a week while barely being there, the moment she looked up at the ceiling and couldn't tell you what happened at her own son's funeral. Brie talks about the numbness — the anesthesia her body put her under — and how four years later, it's still slowly wearing off. Both of them know the guilt that lives underneath the loss. 
Kamisha opens up about her suicidal thoughts, the dream where God showed her a spiderweb full of people she didn't know yet, and how the HP Foundation pulled her toward something when she had nothing left. Brie talks about the nurse at the hospital who told her to get a journal before her brain started protecting her from it — the green journal she still has, the memories she reads back to herself so she doesn't lose them. 
They talk about the signs. Kamisha's feathers on the doorstep. Brie's butterflies and the overheard conversation that answered something she'd been asking in her head. The little girl in the Dollar Tree who asked if Kamisha had a son, said everything was going to be okay, and wasn't in the store when Kamisha went to look for her. The Taylor Swift song that came on in the bridal boutique — "Romeo, save me" — while Brie was trying on a white dress. Both of them have too much evidence to explain away. 
And they both talk about living in two worlds at once — the one where your kid is gone, and the one where life just keeps going anyway. The paradox of finding purpose inside the worst thing that ever happened to you. The fear of forgetting. The guilt of being happy. The question of whether you're doing grief wrong — and what it means that neither of them can answer it, but both of them keep showing up.
Kamisha's grandson looks just like Jawan. Brie's daughter looks just like Romeo. Twelve years in, four years in — the weight doesn't leave. But you get stronger. And you figure out how your son would want you to be.
Both Brie and Kamisha are great examples of remembering to.. "Be gentle with yourself." There's no right way to do grief.  Grief is unique to each person because the love we share with the ones we lose is as a unique as the grief we carry.

In this episode of The 10 Ninety Podcast, Mason sits down with Kamisha Allen, a Phoenix, Arizona mother and founder of the HP Foundation — and the mom of J'Wan, a 21-year-old son she lost to a drowning accident 12 years ago. J'Wan was a football player, a scholar, a Harry Potter reader, and the person who changed everything about who Kamisha was. He was family-first, a jokester, and the reason she became someone worth being. She also almost lost him to a seizure years before the water took him — and she never saw it coming either time.
Kamisha talks about what it was actually like to get that call — the phone she didn't want to answer, the knock on the door, the moment in the convenience store where she had to identify his tattoos and couldn't hold it together anymore. She gets into the guilt of letting him move in with his dad, the suicidal thoughts that followed, and the car crash that didn't kill her — and why she believes it wasn't supposed to.
She also gets into grief, the dark tunnel of it, and what it actually means to find the light. She talks about the angel in the Dollar Tree, the green journal she still has, and how a little girl said the exact right thing and then disappeared. She talks about building the HP Foundation out of grief she wasn't done with yet, covering burial costs for families who lost children without life insurance, and sitting in rooms with other parents who get it in a way no one else can.
And she talks about the neck tattoo that started as a bad decision and ended as scripture. About Harry Potter. About her grandson who looks just like J'Wan. About 12 years in — how the weight doesn't leave, but you get stronger carrying it.
This one takes you to the dark and brings you back. "Be gentle with yourself."

In this episode of The 10 Ninety Podcast, Mason sits down with Matt Meo, a Sacramento-area father and the dad of Landon — a 10-year-old boy who died of brain cancer in December 2022. Landon was funny, kind to everyone, and relentlessly trash-talked his dad. He went commando to his MRI, called out nurses who were moving too slow, had a signature move with his Pokemon cards, and called himself the Kickass Kid. He was also doing the hardest thing imaginable, and somehow got stronger doing it.
Matt talks about what it was actually like to watch his son live and die with cancer — the diagnosis that started with a word he still hates ("finding"), the MRI that changed everything, the sliver of hope that came through while boarding a plane to Disneyland, and the final 48 hours at home. He gets into the guilt that crept in at the worst possible moment, the fork in the road that came when Landon died, and what it looks like to actually go down the good path instead of the bad one.
He also gets into porn addiction — what made it an addiction, how childhood cancer didn't fix it, and how 6,000 miles of running mostly did. He talks about the experiment of pushing himself past his limits, the dream about Landon he had to earn, and why where you most want to find something is usually where you least want to look. And he talks about raising money for cancer families by running 240 miles to the Pacific Ocean — and why not crossing the finish line was the whole point.
This one goes everywhere and earns every minute of it. "What we most want to find is where we least want to look."

In this episode of The 10 Ninety Podcast, Mason sits down with Katy Lee, a St. George native and one of six siblings — five girls, one boy. That boy was her brother Brandon. Brandon was 46 when he died from COVID in 2021. He was sarcastic, hilarious, and hard to love in all the best ways. He watched Maids in a hospital bed, made smashed potatoes from TikTok recipes, and had a one-liner for everything. He also spent years battling addiction, almost died of an overdose the year before, and spent his last year feeling more like himself than he had in a long time. Katy talks about what it was actually like to watch someone die in a COVID ICU — making life-and-death decisions over the phone, sneaking into the hospital when it wasn't her day, feeding her brother food he couldn't cut himself. She talks about grief that didn't look like grief, the guilt that came with relief, and why she didn't cry for a long time and why that's okay. She also gets into trauma therapy, scheduling grief like an appointment, dark humor as a coping tool, and why talking about it — even four years later — still does something for her that nothing else does. This one wanders a little and earns every minute of it. "What we talk about, we can begin to control. What we don't talk about continues to control us."

In this episode of The 10 Ninety Podcast, Mason sits down with Kathi Lyman-Richmond to talk about her son Logan — an 18-year-old who loved GEZ, tattoos, hot tea, long drives, and making everyone around him feel like they mattered.
From the moment Logan was born premature at 26.5 weeks — on Kathi's own birthday — she carried a feeling she could never shake: that she would lose him young, in a car accident, in high school. She never let it stop her from letting him live.
They walk through Logan's last days. A fresh haircut. A trip to the grocery store where he quietly slipped outside to help an elderly woman load her car without being asked. Easter candy and one episode of a Netflix show the night before. One last long hug the morning he got his keys back — tighter than usual — and a big smile as he drove off to school and work. That evening, something pulled Kathi to check his location. The car wasn't moving. She drove to the scene and knew before anyone said a word.
What followed was grief in all its forms — the football coach who showed up in a big way, the close friends who quietly disappeared, the physical toll her body is still paying seven years later, and the signs she believes Logan still sends. They also read the poem written by Julian Grant, an 11th grader who somehow put Logan's light into words better than most adults could.
This one is honest, raw, and worth every minute.
"Sometimes you never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory." — Logan