This past weekend carried one of those quiet, full-circle moments that settled in my chest long after it was over. 

I had the privilege of watching my youngest son compete in his final Woodsmen events before he graduates from college on Mother’s Day weekend. There was something grounding about standing on the sidelines and witnessing the culmination of his late-night practices, weathered hands, and quiet determination taking shape in real time. It was not just a competition; it was the closing of a chapter.

The 10-hour drive and 40-degree temperature drop on Saturday was worth every degree of discomfort. Standing alongside other families, layered in winter clothes, moving between watching their child compete, cheering on teammates, and handing out baked goods felt like part of the official team strategy. And in a way, it was.

Support has its own language; sometimes it sounds like cheering, and sometimes it looks like showing up with something warm to share when the world feels cold...

I Am From a mother who came from a tiny town in central New York, where neighbors weren't seen for their differences but rather as people who genuinely care about one another. I am from the smell of baked goods and a homemade meal around the dinner table served at 5:30 pm each night. I am from holidays filled with great intention and purpose, seen in the small details around a perfect place setting and a sparkling overhead chandelier with each crystal shining as bright as the love in the room. I am from the time and effort applied to every gathering, ensuring everyone feels comfortable and loved. 

I Am From a mother who made shopping on Saturdays more of an experience than a to-do list, where learning how to dress offered me great confidence and a love for fashion. I am from witnessing her style, in each step she took, outfitted with heels and a smart blazer. I am from forgetting my allowance each time we went, craving the Japanese tempura at the mall, but ultimately landing at Carmel...