Discovering Joy and Connection in the Wake of Loss

How the Brazilian 2wins Showed Me that Hope Shines Through the Darkest Nights

On a cold March evening in 2012, just a month after losing my husband, I found myself trapped in that chill, both inside and out. My house felt cold and empty, but my anxiety made it hard to leave.

Somehow, friends convinced me to get dressed and join them at a new cultural center hosting a band I’d never heard of—the Brazilian 2wins.

We arrived early, so it didn’t surprise me that there were only a dozen people there. It had snowed and icy patches made driving risky. I still don’t know how they got me to agree to go anywhere, but I would soon learn that fate was at play.

Although no more people had filled the room, two tall, young guys came on stage holding violins. I looked at my friends. Did they really think classical violin was what I needed, knowing how I’d been feeling? Before I could put on my coat and excuse myself back to my cave of sadness, the guys introduced themselves. Their accents caught my attention and my coat stayed put.

Within minutes, they were playing the cover of one of my favorite songs. I relaxed into the moment, lost in memories of singing with my daughter and husband as we danced around the kitchen. Without realizing it, my head bobbed, my shoulders lost their tension. By their second pop cover song, I was singing along, swaying in my seat. Halfway through their set, my friends and I were in the middle of the dance floor, moving our bodies and singing loudly as if we were the hired chorus.

By the end of the performance I was sweaty and smiling. I felt lighter. The desire to run home and cry was replaced by the buzz of post-dancing adrenaline - a feeling I thought died with Warren when he took his last breath in my arms.

What stood out to me was the heart and energy the Brazilian 2wins put into every song. They drove through darkness and terrible weather to entertain a crowd of twelve, but exuded the excitement of Lollapalooza. They bounced around the stage, encouraged the audience to dance, and poured their souls into every note. They gave it everything, and we could feel the love they had for their art. Likewise, they had outstanding stage presence and played the violin in a way I had never imagined.

That show stands out because it gave me a reprieve from my grief, a few hours to forget my pain and focus on upbeat rhythms that brought me happiness. Their liveliness was contagious; it felt like a private concert, and we were the most special crowd they had ever entertained.

A year later when I organized the first Warren Morrow Memorial concert, the Brazilian 2wins were the first to come to mind. I tracked them down on social media and was so excited to have them in the line-up. Later that year as I planned the Latino Heritage Festival, I bugged the entertainment chair to book them until he relented and promised he would. Over the years, as they grew in popularity, I attended their concerts as often as possible. I loved that they always brought that tremendous love and vitality to every show.

Offstage, the twins, Wagner and Walter were as sweet, funny and humble as I imagined. They were kind enough to be guests on my first podcast, and last week sat for an interview to talk about their decision to return to Brazil and spend time with their family.

I’m not going to lie, I shed some tears as I wrote that article. But, above all, I felt immense gratitude that our paths crossed, and they unknowingly gave me such a wonderful gift.

That night, I stepped out of my grief—if only for a few hours—and remembered what it felt like to be alive. The Brazilian 2wins didn’t just fill an empty room with music; they filled an empty part of me with hope. The memory lingers as a gentle reminder that grief and happiness are not opposites, but companions. The music didn’t erase my pain, but it helped me carry it differently. Every time I hear a violin, I remember that hope can find you, even when you think you’ve closed every door.

If you’re grieving, know this: even when life feels unbearably cold, joy can find its way in. Sometimes, all it takes is saying yes to a friend, to music, or to the possibility that happiness and sorrow can coexist. If you’re struggling through loss, know that your own moment of light might be waiting just beyond your comfort zone.