This year, we chose to celebrate their days together —
Raymi of the twenty-fourth,
Jadey of the twenty-eighth.
Four days apart on the calendar,
Never apart in spirit.

They’ve always walked close —
Two shadows in the same sunlight,
Two voices finishing one another’s thought,
Two steady hearts
Beating toward the same good work.

When they were little,
Their toys were bandages and notebooks,
Their games were listening and mending,
Practicing kindness
Before they knew its name.

Raymi grew into the quiet strength of nursing —
Hands that do not tremble,
Eyes that notice the smallest change,
A presence that says,
“You are not alone.”

Jadey stepped into the open roads of social work —
Where stories are heavy,
And hope must be carried carefully.
She listens long enough
For dignity to return.

They did not chase bright lights.
They did not measure worth in applause.
They chose to stand where help is needed —
And that is a harder road,
But a truer one.

In our family,
Service is not spoken loudly —
It is simply done.
Passed down like an old hymn
Sung without sheet music.

So, we gathered one cake,
One table,
One room filled with gratitude.
Because love does not count days —
It counts devotion.

Two birthdays.
One celebration.
And the quiet pride of knowing
That when children grow
To serve the world,
The world is gently healed.

By Palmarí H. de Lucena