My father taught me heartbreak and grace. That the balm for disappointment was not anger but acceptance and grace was an action word. A series of choices continuously tried and tested.

I learned the joy of laughter in my grandfather. A man born into an era that asked Black men to be strong enough to cut steel who learned to be both sharp and gentle. Whose hands carried weapons and also peeled back to reveal a smile as bright as heaven and laughter like thunder.

I learned how to mend a broken heart watching my mother get up and patch her own everything to meet the day/world of being a single parent against her own wishes. But not just how to be resilient, how to protect the soft and vulnerable parts as well. How to mend and tend.

I learned to feel watching my grandma cook. Sitting in her kitchen and seeing her tirelessly pour pieces of herself, even the ones she couldn’t muster for herself, into every biscuit, piece of fried chicken, and pound cake.

Whewwww 😍😍