Dedicated to my late parents, Simon and Dieulina Raymond.

My parents loved us in opposite dialects of the same language. My father’s love was soft, steady, and generous. My mother’s love was fierce, structured, and constant. Together they built a home where warmth met order, and that balance still lives inside me today.

My father was, in every sense, a gentle giant. He never raised his voice and never came home empty-handed. From the farm, he brought mangoes, sugar cane, guava, mandarins, and more. These were gifts from his labor carried in the same worn bag and offered with quiet joy. There was also a family ritual that revealed his character. No matter how small the portion, he always cut a piece of meat from his own plate and gave it to the youngest child. It was his unspoken way of saying that the smallest among us deserved to be cared for first. I can still see him cutting open a mango in one smooth motion, handing me the first slice before taking any for himself. He also hugged us often, pulling us close with a warmth that made everything feel safe. His laugh healed tension, his patience felt endless, and........

© Psychology Today