Before there were names-father, mother, daughter, son-
there was only the breath of love,
spiraling through the soul's orchard,
weaving us into each other like wind through wheat.
This book is not a manual of family.
It is a mirror of belonging.
Each page is a lantern.
Each word, a whisper from the eternal reed
singing of how we are never truly apart.
Not in silence. Not in sorrow. Not even in death.
We are drops of the same sea-tasting life differently,
but bound in essence.
In writing these words,
I did not seek to teach, but to remember.
Not to instruct, but to burn gently beside you
until we both see:
family is the garden we walk barefoot, together, in God.
