Since childhood, understanding emotions had always been a hassle for me. It wasn't that I was indifferent; I simply struggled to grasp why they felt the way they did.
When my father died tragically, I watched my mother cry herself to sleep night after night. I would kneel beside her door, bothered and confused by her tears and wondering why she couldn't move on. I felt the loss too, but I believed that if we stayed mired in our grief, we'd be stuck there forever.
I became her anchor in those dark times. She called me her angel, the one who guided her through the darkness. Yet, in truth, I merely encouraged her to keep going, to not let the grief consume us. I didn't understand her pain fully, but I knew we couldn't let it define our lives. In the end, it wasn't about dismissing our loss
