ALSphere Foundation
The summer of my childhood was a series of fading photographs, sepia-toned memories blending into one another. There was a day that stands out like an anomaly against the backdrop of my ordinary life: the day my mother took me to the fair, a landscape of laughter, lights, and ephemeral joy.
The air was thick with the scent of cotton candy and fried dough. My mother, always reserved, traded her usual stoicism for a smile, her laughter ringing out as we navigated through the maze of booths and rides. I was twelve, caught between childhood and adolescence, feeling a warmth envelop me—an understanding that I was loved in a way that transcended parental duty.
We stood in line for the Ferris wheel, and I watched the sun begin its slow descent, casting a golden hue over the crowd. My heart raced—not just from the thrill of the ride but from the anticipation of sharing this moment with her. When we climbed into our seat, my mother squeezed my hand, and the world below shrank away. Up we went, rising higher until we were perched above the fairgrounds, the lights twinkling like stars just within reach.
In that moment, suspended in the air, I saw her clearly: the way her hair danced in the wind, the laughter lines around her eyes, the way she looked at me as if I were the only person in the universe. It was fleeting but etched itself into my memory with clarity. I felt seen, truly seen, and that warmth of love crystallized into something tangible.
The descent brought us back to earth, but the sensation lingered. As the night unfolded, we wandered through the fair, hand in hand, like two explorers in a world both foreign and familiar. The thrill of the rides and laughter of children faded, leaving just the two of us, encapsulated in our bubble of joy.
I remember thinking that these moments were fragile, yet they defined me. It was the kind of love that wasn’t loud or grandiose, but quietly transformative, shaping the contours of my being long after the fair had closed.
In the years that followed, life twisted in ways I could never have predicted. Yet, when I am lost in the fog of adult complexity, I return to that summer day and find solace in the simple truth of love shared between a mother and daughter. Those small moments—an embrace, a handhold—taught me what it meant to be loved. Somehow, that understanding carries me through.
