It feels impossible to understand how life can place joy and heartbreak in the same tiny pair of hands, but that’s the world we woke up to. I’m still small, still learning, still trying to figure out why love and loss showed up together — yet one thing has become crystal clear: I am his home now.
I will hold his tiny hand when he learns to walk, just like Mom would have.
I will wipe his tears when he cries, even on the days when mine fall silently beside his.
I will tell him stories about how brave, gentle, and endlessly loving our mother was — how she fought, how she smiled, how she made our world feel safe.
Every smile he gives feels like a fragile piece of her returning to us. Every small hug he wraps around me keeps her warmth alive. Some nights, when he sleeps curled against my chest, I let myself cry softly, wishing she could see how beautiful he is… how much he needs her… how much we both do. But in those moments, I feel her presence like a whisper through the dark: “Take care of each other.”
We’re not asking for gifts or grand gestures — just a blessing, a quiet prayer, a kind word to help steady our tiny hearts. 
Because now we are two little brothers, learning to walk a long, uncertain road without our mother… and every blessing becomes a small light guiding us forward.