The Quiet Power of a Parent’s Love

She was the sun in my sky, the quiet hum of reassurance in a world that often felt too loud. My mother. From the earliest memories, her love was a constant, warm presence, a blanket against every chill. I didn’t just feel loved by her; I felt seen, understood, utterly cherished. She had a way of looking at me, a gentle smile that spoke volumes, that communicated more than any shouted praise ever could.

My father was different. He was a good man, I always believed, but stern. Distant. His love felt conditional, earned through achievements, good grades, quiet obedience. He worked hard, provided everything, but there was an invisible wall around him, a quiet tension in his presence. I never quite measured up, never quite reached him. And so, I leaned harder into my mother’s boundless affection.

She was my advocate, my protector, my secret keeper. When I skinned my knee, it was her soothing voice. When I struggled with homework, it was her patient guidance. When I felt the sting of teenage rejection, it was her unwavering belief that I was special, unique, worthy. She was the strongest person I knew, not with grand gestures, but with an enduring, steadfast love that never wavered.

A bride and groom holding hands and showing their wedding rings | Source: Pexels

Continue reading…