That was the year of early morning coffee cups clinking against the kitchen counter, the sound of you humming some old song while folding laundry, and the quiet way you held everything together when the world felt too loud.
In 2017, you taught me that strength isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s a hand on my back when I failed a class. Sometimes it’s a packed lunch when I forgot to ask. Sometimes it’s just you, sitting in the living room with a book you’ve been trying to finish for three weeks, still putting it down the second I walked through the door.
Mom, 2017 wasn’t perfect. But you made it softer. You made it safe. You made it home.
