Five years ago, I lost my best friend, Royana Black. She was just 47 years old — brilliant, funny, passionate, and the brightest light in any room – every single time. Her sudden passing devastated everyone who knew her, and still does. But in the midst of that heartbreak, she also left behind one final, unexpected gift — a lesson I now share with anyone who will listen: don’t wait to talk about what matters most.
Royana and I met in 2007, when I interviewed at Lehman Brothers. She asked if I was an actress (I was), but I hesitated — trying to land this “real job” without being labeled a flaky LA creative. She smiled and said, “It’s okay. I am too.” We hit it off instantly.
We bonded over theater, our shared sarcasm, our love of Vegas, and — in a very out-of-character move — we joined Team in Training together to run a marathon for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Neither of us had ever run a day in our lives, but their stories brought us both to tears. We trained for months, had hours-long talks during our runs, raised money, and finished the marathon hand-in-hand in 2008.
We called each other HLPs — heterosexual life partners — and meant it! We were in the same theatre company. We acted together. She even directed me once. We held each other through the worst of times: the loss of our fathers, breakups, and the gut-wrenching goodbye to our fur-babies. We also celebrated the best of times — I got to watch her meet and marry the love of her life, JP. And she stood beside me when I married mine. In fact, Royana was our witness, and JP officiated our beach ceremony.
Roy was extraordinary: a child star with her own TV series, a Broadway actress, a fierce friend – she even donated her kidney to a close friend of hers. She gave so much of herself — always.
And then, everything changed.
On July 7, 2020, she went to Urgent Care with excruciating leg pain. Until that point, her symptoms had been dismissed as COVID-related. But on July 8, in a cruel twist of fate, she was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. She fell into a coma, and six days later, she was gone.
I sat with her and JP in the hospital. The room was silent except for machines and the unbearable weight of what was happening. I turned to him and asked, “Do you know what she wanted?” And without hesitation, he said, “Yes.”
That moment changed everything for me.
In the middle of chaos and grief, JP didn’t have to guess. He didn’t have to wonder what Royana would want in her final moments. They had talked about it. They’d had the hard conversations. She’d made her wishes clear — and that gave him the clarity and confidence to honor her completely.
That’s what an Advance Health Care Directive can do. It’s not just paperwork — it’s peace of mind. It’s a roadmap. It’s a final act of love for the people who may someday have to make impossible decisions on your behalf.
An Advance Health Care Directive allows you to:
- Name someone to make medical decisions for you if you can’t
- Document the types of care you do (or don’t) want
- Remove the burden of guesswork from those you love
Before Roy passed, I didn’t fully understand estate planning. I thought it was just for wealthy people, mostly about assets and inheritance. But true planning is about far more than stuff. It’s about protecting your voice — even when you can’t speak. It’s about making choices now that spare your loved ones from unimaginable stress later.
At Bier Law, we’re proud to partner with The Conversation Project to help families start these crucial discussions. We also offer their Conversation Starter Guide on our website — it’s a gentle, practical tool for talking with the people who matter most.
If you’ve been putting off this conversation, please don’t wait.
Talk to the people you love. Make your wishes known. Download the guide. Take that first step.
Your voice matters. And your choices matter — not just for you, but for the people who will carry them out when you no longer can.
