The first thing you need to know: her name is pronounced “Key-Bee-Bee.” Not Ki-Bye-Bye. Not Ki-Boo-Bee. It’s, Kibibi. Dillon. But more important than how to correctly pronounce her name is understanding her heart.

I was inspired by this fantastically funny and loving woman. Yesterday, she died. And to me, death means we’re experiencing it. We’re doing it. That thing we all have to do. Follow life into death. It’s inevitable, and yet it’s part of life.

Kibibi followed life. Wherever it took her, she went. Whether creating a salon in her living room, filling the Zipper with joy and dreams, or kicking it at a club with other comics, Kibibi lived her life.

We met about six years ago, and I remember watching one of her first stand up shows. For the past couple years, I had the honor of working with Kibibi and seeing her realize dreams. She’d always been funny. Knew how to MC an event. But she wanted to be a comedian. For real. She wanted to tell the same twenty minutes to people gig after gig. She wanted to clown the crowd. She wanted to hit eight clubs in one night. And she didn’t want to hear you think women aren’t funny.

When she moved back to California earlier this year, I missed saying good bye. That’s why I’m writing. To say thanks for inspiring me to follow where life leads. The night before she died, Kibibi did what she loved doing. She made people laugh. She made people think. She touched lives.

I challenge you to think about how you can touch others’ lives. Today, that is my meditation.

Thanks, Kibibi.