Gemotions

The list was tucked inside the family bible, next to a pressed rose. Thomas’s mother, a woman of quiet strength, had hidden it well. “Go skydiving.” “Volunteer at an animal shelter.” “Learn to speak French.” He felt the familiar pressure in his chest, the feeling of being unable to move forward. He hadn't left the house in days, barely answering the door.

He sat at the kitchen table, the light from the window catching the dust motes dancing in the air. Each breath felt labored, like he was trying to climb a steep hill. He picked up his mother’s worn glasses, running his thumb over the lenses. He stared out the window, at the world continuing, unconcerned with his internal struggles.

He read the list again, a knot forming in his stomach. Skydiving? French? It felt impossible. But the image of his mother's smile, the gentle way she lived her life, spurred something within him, a tiny whisper of hope. He started searching online for French classes.