Echos Hair Design

In Memory of Mirta Lazo — April 12, 1933 – September 30, 2025

Today marks one year since you left us, Mom. One year since the world lost its brightest light, and our family lost its foundation.

Not a day passes that I don’t reach for the phone to call you. Not a night passes that I don’t lie awake replaying every moment — the rash that wouldn’t heal, the appointments where you were told it was “just eczema” or “just psoriasis,” the biopsies that came back “psoriasiform” while the cancer spread, the September hospitalization where the truth finally came out: Cutaneous T-Cell Lymphoma. Mycosis Fungoides. Sezary Syndrome. Stage IVB. By then, it was too late. You were already dying.

You endured years of itching, burning, open wounds, treatments that didn’t work, and doctors who didn’t listen. You endured it with the same quiet strength that held this family together for decades. You were the one who fed everyone, prayed for everyone, remembered every birthday, every worry, every dream. You were the glue.

Now the seat at the head of the table is empty. Dad wakes up without his wife of over 60 years. Your daughter and sons navigate life without their compass. Your grandchildren grow up without your arms around them. And I — I carry the weight of knowing that the system you trusted for decades failed you when it mattered most.

Kaiser knew. They had the records. They had the chances. They had the duty. And they let you slip through the cracks — again and again — until the diagnosis came in the same month you took your last breath.

So today, on this anniversary, I make a promise — not just to your memory, but to the woman who taught me what love, sacrifice, and perseverance look like:
I will not stop. I will not go quiet. I will not let this be buried in arbitration clauses, legal technicalities, or “we’re sorry for your loss” form letters.

I am filing. I am fighting. I am demanding every record, every answer, every apology, and every measure of accountability the law allows — for you, for Dad, for your daughter, for your sons, for every grandchild who’ll only know you through stories.

You were not “just a 92-year-old patient.” You were Mirta Lazo — a mother, a wife, a matriarch, a force of nature. Your life had value. Your suffering mattered. Your death was preventable.

Kaiser, this is not going away. We are coming for the truth. And we will not settle for less than justice.

Te amo, Mom. Hasta que nos volvamos a encontrar.

Your son,

Eduardo/Preguntale a Lito!!

I love you Mom!

When I first saw this painting, I felt an immediate connection to it. I did not create it, but in many ways it reflects where I am in my life.

Many people see a person lying down with a hand covering their face and a pair of scissors nearby. Some may see sadness, exhaustion, or vulnerability. I see those things too. But I also see much more.

As a hairstylist, scissors have been part of my life for decades. They are more than a tool. They represent creativity, transformation, trust, connection, and the privilege of helping people feel beautiful and confident. Through my work, I have shared in some of life's most meaningful moments—celebrations, milestones, fresh starts, and sometimes even heartbreak.

This past year, I experienced one of the greatest losses of my life: the death of my mother.

Grief has a way of changing how we see the world. There are days when we feel strong and days when we feel broken. Days when we want to fight and days when we simply need to rest. This painting captures that reality for me. It reminds me that vulnerability is not weakness. It is part of being human.

The hand covering the face speaks to the pain that comes with loss. The scissors represent the gifts, talents, and purpose that remain even when life feels overwhelming. The lines crossing the image remind me of the many paths that shape us—love, family, happiness, creativity, learning, teaching, growth, struggle, and resilience.

Most of all, this painting reminds me that life is not defined by a single moment. It is defined by everything that brought us to that moment and everything that comes after.

I see my mother's love in it. I see the lessons she taught me. I see the strength she passed on to me. I see the responsibility to continue living fully, loving deeply, creating fearlessly, and helping others.

This image is not about giving up. It is about enduring.

It is about finding the courage to keep going when your heart is broken.
It is about honoring those we have lost by continuing to grow, to learn, to teach, to create, and to love.

For me, this painting represents happiness and pain, strength and vulnerability, creativity and loss. It represents the beauty and complexity of a life fully lived.

And above all, it reminds me to fight until the end—not with anger, but with love, grace, purpose, and gratitude for every moment we are given.

Origin Lab — A Place That Touches the Heart and Soul

There are places you visit, and then there are places that stay with you forever — Origin Lab is one of those places.

As I sit here enjoying one of Ibrahim and his incredible team's creations, I find myself thinking of my late mother and how much she would have absolutely loved this place. She would have walked in, looked around in awe, and ordered one of everything! I truly believe that somehow, through the warmth and love poured into every drink here, the spirit of these flavors will find their way to her in heaven. I miss you, Mom — more than words can say. 🤍

I am already planning to bring my dad and the entire family here very soon, because a place this special deserves to be shared with the people you love most. For all of us still here — cherish every sip, every moment, every visit.
Ibrahim and his team are creating something truly magical. The drinks are crafted with such artistry, care, and passion — from the flavors to the presentation, everything is next level. This is now without a doubt one of my absolute favorite coffee and matcha spots, and I will be back again and again.

Thank you, Origin Lab, for creating a space that not only delights the senses but also warms the heart. You are very special. ☕🌿💛

— Eduardo

I’ve been quiet about hair for a while now. Hairdressing isn’t just what I do — it’s a huge part of who I am. Since losing my mom late last September, it’s been hard to find the words or the energy to share.

But I know my mom would want me to keep living, loving, and celebrating life with the people who matter most — my family, friends, and all of you wonderful clients.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me, checked on me, worked with me, and patiently put up with me during this time. I love you and I’m truly grateful.

This is my first post back — and I wanted to start with something that makes me happy: this vibrant red with the most beautiful curls. ❤️ I’ve always loved taking clients red. There’s something so powerful about it. It doesn’t just change the way you look — it brings a fresh boost of confidence, strength, and joy.

Here’s to new beginnings, beautiful hair, and celebrating life again. 💕

Optimism always

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

I came to visit you today and brought you a latte and a warm croissant — just the way you loved them. I sat with you for a little while, and I could almost hear you laughing at me for being so sentimental. But I couldn't help it. Some things you just don't stop missing.

I imagine that wherever you are now, they must have the most extraordinary coffee beans — ones that put everything here on earth to shame — and that your latte is absolutely perfect, just like you deserved it to be every single morning.

We miss you, Mom. Every single one of us. The whole family has wrapped their arms around Dad, making sure he has everything he needs, making sure he is never alone. He misses you so deeply — more than words can hold — and we carry that with him every day.

I know what you would say to me if you could. I can already hear your voice telling me to let it go, to put it down, to rest. But Mom, I can't. Not yet. I made you a promise in my heart, and I intend to keep it. I will stop when I have finished, when I have said everything that needs to be said, and when I have exhausted every last option available to me. Every single one.

And when that day finally comes — when we see each other again — you are more than welcome to scold me all you want. I will take every word of it with a smile. Just please, when you're done, greet me with a hug, a kiss, a coffee, and a croissant.

I love you, Mom. More than you ever knew.

Lito