The hand that was always there.

"A person is not strong by what he can bear — but by what he can pass on."

There was a man who never considered himself special.

He was not loud.

He was not a role model.

He just did his job.

He got up in the morning, set off, organized, helped, listened.

If needed, he gave.

If needed, he stayed there.

If not asked, he didn't speak.

Many people got used to it.

They thought to him that "he's like that".

As if it were self-evident that he was always there.

If there was a problem, they called.

If a solution was needed, they looked for it.

If silence was needed, he was still there — they just didn't notice.

Once they asked him:

- How do you do this?

He thought about it.

He couldn't answer right away.

He remembered an old picture.

A kitchen.

A table.

A hand that put a plate in front of him, even when there wasn't much.

A voice that didn't promise great things, just said:

- We'll solve it.

There was no magic in it.

There was no great wisdom in it.

Just presence.

Then he realized:

He's not special.

But what he received.

The attention that can be passed on.

The patience that can be learned.

The love that isn't loud, but keeps you.

A person doesn't remain human because they know a lot.

But because they remember that they too were once in need.

And when they don't forget this, they won't be hard.

They won't be indifferent.

They won't be immortal.

They'll just be present.

And sometimes that's worth more than all the strength, all the power, all the big words put together.

What's once kept lives on even when we don't talk about it anymore.