Why I talk about my mother death on stage in front of strangers

The question I get asked most after a keynote is not about business or leadership. It is: why do you talk about your mother’s death in front of strangers? They ask it carefully, like they are worried the question itself might hurt me.

TL;DR: I share my mother’s story on stage because silence did not help anyone, including me. It costs something every time. But after every talk, someone in the audience tells me their story for the first time. That exchange is why I keep doing it.

Why I started

I did not plan to become a speaker who talks about trauma. I planned to be a business speaker who talked about leadership and sales and scaling companies. But every time I stood on a stage and told the sanitized version of my story, something felt off. Like I was leaving out the part that made everything else make sense.

My mother Joyce died when I was 20 months old. Gun violence. That loss shaped every decision I made for the next four decades, whether I acknowledged it or not. The drive to succeed, the fear of failure, the need to prove I was enough. All of it traced back to a thing I never talked about on stage.

The first time I told the full story publicly was at a campaign event during my 2016 congressional run. I was terrified. My hands were shaking. I got through it and then something happened I did not expect: three people came up afterward and shared their own losses. One woman had never told anyone about her brother’s death. She was crying and holding my hands and saying “thank you for saying it.”

What it costs

It is not free. Every time I tell that story, I feel it. Not the raw, consuming grief of my twenties, but a low hum of sadness that stays with me for the rest of the day. I have a therapist. I prepare before every talk. I know which lines are the hardest to deliver and I’ve rehearsed through them enough that I can hold steady.

But I’d be lying if I said it does not take something from me. It does. The question is whether what it gives back is worth what it takes. For me, the answer is yes. Not every day, but on the days that matter.

What it gives

Permission. That is the word I keep coming back to. When I stand in front of a room and say the hardest true thing about my life, it gives other people permission to do the same. Not on stage. Just in their own lives. With their families. With their friends. With themselves.

After one talk in Milwaukee, a man waited until the room had emptied. He told me his daughter had died by gun violence three years earlier and he had never spoken about it at work. He went back to his office the next day and told his team. His boss called me a month later and said the team had rallied around him in a way nobody expected.

That is why I do it. Not because it is easy. Because silence costs more.

About Khary Penebaker

Khary Penebaker is a Regional General Manager at Great Day Improvements, overseeing operations across Chicago, Madison, Milwaukee, and Minneapolis. He previously built Roofed Right America from startup to $35M+ in revenue with 180 employees and founded Penebaker Enterprises, growing it from $1.5M to $15M. A gun violence prevention advocate and former Everytown for Gun Safety Fellow, Khary brings two decades of leadership experience in construction, operations, and civic engagement.

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Last updated: March 13, 2026