A seven-year-old goes quiet. Daddy realizes that love has accidentally become a burden. A day of memories, friendship, repair, and the unseen work of a plural family becomes a lesson in what it means to let a child be seven.
Tag Archives: Solis
We Know Where We Are
A smell of aftershave opened one door into the past. A bus carried us past an old life and toward somewhere new. At Sacred Heart, amid Spanish-language liturgy, childhood memory, uncertainty, and belonging, Solis opened his eyes and knew where we were: “This is our parish.”
Nine Lives Here
Solis’s Day, a seven-year-old’s question—What are we supposed to be doing?—becomes a question about work, authority, safety, uncertainty and belonging. An almanac entry from a plural family learning that there are nine lives here, and practicing how to live like there are.
Dad’s Here
Solis looked up from the phone and, for a moment, the physical world became overwhelmingly concrete. We call it a terror peek. On a day when we asked a therapist for help, it brought us back to one of the most important questions in our family: Where is the adult? Dad’s here.
Solis’s Day Is Reclaiming the Sabbath
We stayed home on Sunday because we needed rest. By midday, the journal—and the analysis that followed it—was uncovering something much older about urgency, safety, work, faith, independence, and what it means to reclaim the Sabbath.
