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.