I couldn't forget one thing, one precious promise that I clung to after my father passed away. If he were still here, my mom and I wouldn't have bickered about money and school, but rather about which flowers to plant in our garden. I yearned for lavender and blueberries, while she insisted on lemongrass and midnight iris. After our family fell apart, we ended up planting both. The blend of fruity, fresh air and earthy scents triggered a flood of memories that I can't shake.

After my dad's death, I made a solemn vow to push through and earn my college degree. To solidify this commitment to education, I kept the same handkerchief he used to dry his tears under my pillow. Through thirteen moves over the years, it stayed with me, until it disappeared in Astoria, a yellow handkerchief stained with ink.

I believe it's the vow itself and my faith that have protected me all these years. I didn't need the handkerchief to realize that, but perhaps its loss brought me back to my faith.