After having been settled in our new home for almost a year, I decided to finish unpacking the last few boxes. Hidden low in the stack was a box simply marked “Nick”. Excitement jolted my empty-nest heart upon seeing the name of my eldest son, who now lives eleven hundred miles away.
Delighted, I spent hours poring1) through the artwork2), awards and report cards that propped3) my memory door wide open and let the days of his childhood come home.
I found his soccer “trading card” at age six and a Mother's Day card from the year he was nine with coupons4) for extra chores, neck rubs, and breakfast in bed. I found an award Nick won in the second grade for top sales in a school fundraiser. First place in the entire elementary school. Even at the age of seven, he had a way with5) people. Next I found an envelope addressed to Nick in my own handwriting.
“For Nick to read when he is grown,” the envelope said. I have a tradition of writing letters to my kids at different times in their lives and saving them to read when they are older. This particular letter I had written to my son, now age twenty-one, was dated Mother's Day fifteen years ago. He had been in kindergarten, and reading it brought back memories of a day I realized what a truly selfless, kind child I had been blessed with6).
Today was Mother's Day. As I watch your beautiful sleeping face, I wanted to write this letter to give you later so you will always know how much joy you bring me.