I close my eyes, and there is my mother. There is my father, and there is me. We were a family once. A unit comprised of love and hope and courage. I didn’t see it then. I didn’t know that my mother’s tears were something bigger. I realize now that she wasn’t crying for herself. She was crying for all the others—all of the people she wanted to help. I think of my father and his stories about the sky. Why tell a young child about things they will never get to see? But that wasn’t what he was doing. He was planting a dream in my heart. Planting a picture in my mind. Something to chase. Something
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