ADVERTISEMENT
My mother died of cancer when I was still a kid. One year she was there folding laundry and reminding me to do my homework, and the next she was gone, swallowed by hospital rooms and whispered conversations adults thought I couldn’t hear. After that, it was just my dad and me.
He worked as an industrial electrician, wiring half-finished buildings, crawling through tight spaces, coming home with hands that were always rough and nicked. He never talked much about feelings, but he taught me lessons that stuck deeper than any speech ever could. Don’t owe anyone.
ADVERTISEMENT