The Light Is In The Staying

The afternoon stretches out, long and flat, the kind of hour where the phone rings and the world tilts on its axis. You hear her voice on the other end—small, confused, searching for a answer she always used to have.

The middle of the day becomes the middle of a grief you didn't schedule. You are holding the line while the ground shifts beneath you.

But listen—there is a light that does not fade when the sun is high, and it does not vanish when the mind grows dim. It was there before the confusion started, and it remains now, steady as a stone in the river.

The role has reversed, yes. The teacher has become the student.

Yet the Love that held you when you were small is the same Love holding her now, even in the fog. You do not have to be the answer.

You only have to be the presence. The light is not in the knowing; it is in the staying.