My other side

1970

You never truly know the depth of your strength until strength is all you have left.
I am the second of three children, raised in the quiet embrace of the countryside. We had little, but we had each other. My father, a humble carpenter, spent his days in the city, sometimes working for the wealthy families along the river. My mother stayed with us, always a steady presence-cooking, sewing, cleaning, or offering us lessons on how to be fierce, unshakable women. She was our compass, always reminding us to wear confidence like armor, to walk through life fearless.
My father, though, was the opposite-quiet, distant, like a shadow cast by the fading light.
I often wonder how a spirit as radiant as hers could end up bound to such misfortune. Life, in its strange way, weaves beauty and sorrow together like threads in a tapestry, each moment tied to the next.
Funny how life does that...