“A mother’s smile first understanding of love came to me before I could even speak — it was gentle, warm, and full of meaning.” When I was a young child, around five or six years old, being the middle child often made me crave love and attention. That need, however, was never left unfulfilled—because my mother wrapped me in her love in ways that felt quiet, constant, and real. I spent much of my childhood helping her with household work. Somehow, even at that age, I wished I could free her from the weight of it all. I wanted her to rest, to breathe, to live without tiredness. When the…