Love That Holds Without Holding On
There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of them. Some of the clearest, warmest memories I have are from those early days—small kids with big eyes, tiny hands clumsily scooping rice and scattering tortilla chips like confetti, completely enamored with their balloon animals. We were in Midway, eating at Tarahumara, and afterward, they each took turns getting their faces painted by the local clown. I can still picture how still they sat, completely mesmerized, proud of their designs when it was done. Those moments are etched in my mind—not because it was dramatic, but because it was real. Joyful. Pure. They were so little—maybe two, maybe four—but even then, they carried a kind of quiet magic. Just being near them made me feel like I had a purpose. That love didn’t vanish with time. It didn’t fade with silence. It’s still here—steady and stubborn. A lot went wrong. Maybe from the outside, it looks like I moved on. But the truth is, I just learned to carry the weight dif...