She didn’t follow a path her parents or ancestors dictated or mapped out for her. She chose her own. And she wasn’t afraid to pivot—sometimes drastically—when she hit dead ends or when the path didn’t fit. She would pivot with the curiosity of that toddler in the hallway, the tenacity of her kindergarten Pocahontas, and the precision of her high-school percussionist.
Thanks for the backbone you gave this family.
Sometimes I picture the spine as a stack of cookies—ginger snaps, chocolate chips, snickerdoodles, oatmeal—layered strength, sweet and steady.
When we emerge from the page, we are not cynical. The words have drawn us away—forward—toward growth and compassion.
I may be the elder, but you’ve often modeled the kind of calm integrity I reach for.
The way you move through the world—through the crowds, through change—without losing yourself.
Always aware of your center.
Always grounded in your truth.
Standing in shadow is hiding, cloistering.
Standing on shoulders is rising, opening.
From someone’s shoulders, I can see farther than they saw, imagine deeper, wider, wilder. I carry forward what they offered, but I’m not confined by it.
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