Mimi’s Light, Our Work: Reflections on Grief & Community Care

Author’s Note
Our community is grieving the sudden loss of a beloved leader, Mimi Madrid. This reflection is not intended to speak for Mimi’s family or to offer explanations about their passing. It is meant to honor their impact, hold space for our collective grief, and reflect on what it means to lead and care for each other in moments like this.

Mimi Madrid was a proud brown, queer, Two-Spirit artist, documentarian, and community organizer who spent more than twenty years fighting for reproductive justice, racial justice, youth power, and LGBTQ+ liberation in Colorado. They were the co-founder and Executive Director of Fortaleza Familiar, a community-based organization dedicated to the wellness of Indigenous, Chicanx, Latinx, LGBTQ, and Two-Spirit young people and their families. In lieu of flowers, Mimi’s family requests that donations or gifts be made through Fortaleza Familiar to benefit Mimi’s community. Donation link: https://bit.ly/HonoringMimi

I am the person I am today because of my father.

My dad was born in Mexico City into an activist family and moved to the United States in 1965. He grew up to be a community organizer, picketed alongside his mother during the grape boycotts, served green chili verde to Angela Davis at a fundraiser for Shirley Chisholm’s run for president, and he marched on Washington.

When I asked in fourth grade why we honored a god I did not believe in during the pledge of allegiance, he told me I did not have to stand. He taught me to question authority and to leverage our whiteness as a tool for racial justice.

The thing about being a community organizer is that sometimes you become a community leader whether or not you planned for it. People begin to look to you for steadiness, honesty, and hope. Being a leader in this movement is an enormous gift, to hold our community’s hopes and dreams and fears. And at the same time, being seen as strong and resilient can feel unbearably heavy.

Mimi’s life shaped so many corners of Colorado. Their work went far beyond programs or organizations. It was about belonging. It was about reminding Queer and Trans Indigenous and Latine youth that their stories and their futures mattered. Mimi created room for young people to see themselves as worthy of care and capable of leading. That legacy lives in the young people they mentored, in the cultural work they built, and in the movements they strengthened.

What stood out most to me at their memorial was how deeply Mimi loved people. He made sure everyone was cared for, whether they were family, friends, or someone she had just met. She treated children as full human beings, worthy of respect and wonder, and kids trusted him instantly because he made them feel seen and safe.

Mimi’s commitment to community was both fierce and tender. Through Fortaleza and other initiatives, he built relationships that helped communities move toward change, uplifting queer and trans people across Colorado, especially those at the intersections of Indigeneity and Latinidad. They led not through ego but through care, connection, and intention.

People spoke about Mimi as someone who held them through their hardest moments and taught them how to keep going. His spirit lives in the people she loved, in the movements they fueled, and in the joy he cultivated. Their presence inspired unity, creativity, and healing, and that impact will continue long after this moment of grief.

Our LGBTQ+ community knows what it is to lose people who carried so much for others. For decades the LGBTQ+ movement has led with messages like “it gets better” and “you are not alone.” The message I absorbed from these campaigns was simple: show up for each other. I dropped out of high school at 16 because I felt that call to action. I wanted to be useful. I wanted to take up space at decision making tables in the ways my dad had done.

If 16 year old Jax could see my life today, I know I would be proud. I also know that, as bell hooks teaches us, isolation and hopelessness are symptoms of a society built for the straight white heteropatriarchy. These conditions are not accidents. They are built into the structure of the world we are trying to survive.

I also have to be honest about what keeps me going. I believe we can win. I believe our communities can build a future free from this violence. Dr. Bettina Love taught me that the least I can do with my whiteness and my social capital is to keep imagining that future beyond racism, transphobia, and inequality.

I want to be clear; our community cannot afford to let this moment pass without building deeper networks of care, stronger ladders to leadership, and more honest conversations about what it means to hold this work. The individualistic messages about rest and self care that dominate our movement culture are not enough. They place the responsibility for survival on each of us alone, instead of asking what our communities owe to one another. Showing up for the work can be uncomfortable. Believing in a better world requires discomfort.

My best friend offered me a better framework today. She said she is not supported by the idea of a work life balance, because life is not always rest and work is not always draining. What she needs is a balance between joy and hard things. I feel the same. I do not need anyone to remind me to rest. I need more people to offer material support, like asking, “What can I take off your plate so your day can end thirty minutes sooner?” That is what community care looks like. It starts from the belief that we are holding this work together, and that for the good of our people, it needs to get done. The question is how we distribute the load so more of us can carry the light, instead of watching the same few people burn out under its weight.

We need more people stepping up to lead. We need white, cisgender, and straight allies to take on more of the load and recognize the political violence aimed at our communities. We need them to move with precision and urgency. We need cross movement solidarity rooted in collective liberation, so that the burden does not fall on the same leaders again and again. This is not only about surviving the political moment. It is about building a future where our leaders, our youth, and our communities can truly thrive.

I believe we can create that future. Mimi believed in that future. And to honor them, I invite you to join me in working toward it with as much care, courage, and commitment as we can.

In lieu of flowers, Mimi’s family requests that donations or gifts be made through Fortaleza Familiar to benefit Mimi’s community. Donation link: https://bit.ly/HonoringMimi