I took this picture on Mother's Day. My mother-in-law had given me a bouquet of tulips to celebrate, and I singled this one out because I thought it might photograph well against the neutral background of the room. It did. But looking at it now, I realize I didn't just take a portrait of a tulip. I took a portrait of Sandy. It's all there — the deep, confident red. The petals layered with that kind of effortless composure where nothing is fussed over but nothing is out of place either. Strong. Independent. Refined. Beautiful in a way that feels easy. Complete. And then there's the gratitude piece, which is harder to put into words but I'll try. I have spent my adult life with Andy, a person who is thoughtful, and kind, and generous, and wickedly smart — and none of that came out of nowhere. Somebody poured those things into him, year after year, before I ever met him. Somebody taught him how to be that. The luckiest day of my life is downstream of the work she did long before our paths crossed. So this tulip, as it turns out, is a thank-you note. For the bouquet. For the son. For the example of how to move through the world with grace and a spine. For the gift she didn't just give to me, but to the world. She is the flower. And she is the highest praise.