Let the Light Run Toward You

The house is quiet now, but the weight of earlier still sits on your chest. You remember the moment your child turned their small face up to yours, offering gentle words meant to calm your storm.

In that second, the roles blurred. You realized they were learning to manage your emotions because you had forgotten how to manage your own.

The light does not want your child to be your peacekeeper. It wants you to be the stable ground they can lean on.

There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off. He ran.

Before the apology, before the speech — he ran. He did not wait for the son to fix the distance.

He closed it himself. Tonight, the light runs toward you.

It does not ask your child to soothe you. It offers to hold the very parts of you that feel too heavy to carry alone.

You are not supposed to be the one being comforted by the small hands you were meant to hold. Rest now.

Let the light be the parent you need to be.