One Drop at a Time

Some days don’t break me all at once. They press down on me slowly, one raindrop at a time. It starts as a drizzle — a phone call, a memory, a thought that lingers too long. Before I know it, the drops have gathered into a storm, and I’m standing in the middle of it, trying to hold myself steady.Yesterday was one of those days. I worked on my plans — quietly, carefully, without rushing to show every detail. I cleaned the house. I cooked for my family while everyone was away at school and work. Somewhere along the line, I’ve become a house dad of sorts, keeping things moving inside these walls while life outside feels stuck. But here’s the truth: I love it. Cooking, cleaning, caring — it gives me something solid to hold on to when everything else feels like it’s slipping.Still, it’s heavy. Every dish washed, every meal prepared, every room straightened — it’s all a part of me trying to put order into a world that feels like chaos. My mother’s health fading, my mother-in-law in the hospital, the weight of waiting for work to come through — all of it gathers like storm clouds. And yet, I keep standing.This photo says it all. Me in the rain. Head lifted. Shirt soaked. But I’m still there. I haven’t walked away. I haven’t folded.The storm can come, but it won’t wash me away.

This is The Climb.