Running Before the Apology Arrives

The afternoon stretches out, a long middle where you hold a small hand that might not be yours tomorrow. You love with your whole heart while knowing the system holds the final say.

It feels like building a house on sand, waiting for the tide to wash it away. But there is a love that does not depend on permanence.

A father saw his son coming home from a long way off and ran. He did not wait for the legalities, the apologies, or the guarantees.

He ran. That running is the light.

It does not calculate the risk of loss. It only knows the need of the moment.

You are not loving in vain because the end is uncertain. You are loving because the light is here, now, in this ordinary, terrifying Tuesday.

The love you pour out is not lost if the child leaves. It becomes part of them.

A drop from the light, sent to illuminate their path, wherever it leads. You are the vessel, not the owner.

The light flows through you, not because you succeeded, but because you showed up. The courage is not in keeping them safe forever.

The courage is in loving them fully today.