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.
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