A Holland and a Fighter

Holland.

It wasn’t the name I was born with, but it was a gift that was given to me at the age of four. On that birthday, I didn’t know what it meant to be a Holland, but over the next thirty-something years, there would be many lessons taught by a generous and adoring family. To be a Holland means to accept differences. To compromise. To listen, but to also speak your mind. To appreciate the world around you. To give back.

To be a Holland means to love.

Fighter.

I was never the fighter in my family. If there was a pacifist among the brothers, it would be me. I was the peacekeeper. The unifier. The one who was charged with keeping the family together; but in that very challenge, was it not a fight? The struggle may not often be a brawl, but there’s always hardship. This I know too well. To be a fighter means to face adversity. To do the unexpected. To stand alone. To have courage and strength of character. To prove everyone wrong.

To be a fighter means to live.

This is a story of love, life and the unexpected events that force us to fight for both.