Where Love Makes a Home

Home used to be loud — full of music and laughter. My brother Daniel would sit on the couch with his guitar, and I’d play the piano beside him. The living room became our stage, and it felt like home was smiling with us. Then Daniel got brain cancer, and our house changed. There were hospital bags by the door and long, quiet days. Sometimes I heard Mom crying at night. Home started to feel smaller, like the light had dimmed. Even when he was sick, Daniel still made home feel warm. He would joke with me, smile, and squeeze my hand when I was scared. I learned that home isn’t just walls and doors. Home is love, safety, and being together. When Daniel died, the silence was huge. For a while, I didn’t know what home meant anymore. Then I began helping raise money for Meagan’s Hug in Daniel’s name, and I later became an ambassador so I could help even more kids. Every time I helped, it felt like a tiny light came back. Now, when I hear about Habitat for Humanity, I think about families who need a place that feels safe and full of love too. I want every kid to have a home where they can laugh, feel hugged, and make memories the way Daniel and I did. Home is the songs I play on the piano, the ribbons I tie for childhood cancer, and the hope I try to give to others. Daniel taught me that home doesn’t disappear. It lives in your heart, and it grows when you share it. That is what home means to me.