[cue music] … I don’t get flowers anymore.

I used to get them all the time. When we were outside and flowers were near, Andrew would always pick a few and present them to me with intense focus and an expression of undying love. [crescendo]

The flowers always wilted within a few hours, but they warmed my heart for days. Sometimes, though, I was careless with the weeds—excuse me, flowers—he presented. Andrew was so concerned. “Why didn’t you put them in water, Mommy?” I was apologetic, immediately trying to revive the wilted or dead flowers.

I quickly learned that Andrew saw these weed/flowers as something bigger, and I should cherish them.

Now that he’s older, we don’t take as many walks as we used to. I’d give anything to go back to those carefree days when we would feed the ducks at Patriot Lake, or go for a hike and explore our neighborhood. I had no idea how much that time together would mean to me now.

Last week, we went on a bike ride. We stopped for a few minutes, and then I began to ride ahead of Andrew. As I looked back, I saw my son with something yellow in his hand. He got closer, and tears welled in my eyes. Andrew holding a handful of weed/flowers, and his smile told just what I needed to hear. That he remembers, too.

 

1 Comment

  1. Kendra White on September 11, 2013 at 7:36 pm

    It’s the joy of the simplest things that make motherhood, and life, all the more precious.

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