VI. THE HAND
Months before, I had stood inside a cathedral,
studying the way hands were painted.
Open. Extended.
Offering something unseen.
I carried that image with me.
It became a design. A symbol.
Something I couldn’t fully explain.
Later, after loss, I realized—
the name I had given my lost son
was the same as the place where that inspiration began.
Not everything arrives with clarity.
Some things reveal themselves
only when we look back.
—Sarah Sides (founder)
VII. INHERITANCE
My mother carried a quiet kind of strength.
The kind that doesn’t announce itself.
She kept moving through hardship.
Built where she could.
Held more than she should have had to.
She didn’t lose herself.
She became more.
Now, in my own life, I see the shape of what she carried.
And I understand—
giving your life to what matters
doesn’t diminish you.
It refines you.
— Sarah Sides (founder)
VIII. CLOSING
