Today is not the day I normally share a story, but, this April 16th, I need to … for my Eternal, for our family, but most of all to share, a day which brought a dearly loved soul to this world, one who gives those she loves …
Every year, without fail, her son made sure to give a birthday card.
It meant everything to him, to see her smile, to know she was happy he didn’t forget—as if he ever would. The flowers were loved, the dinners together were joyful, and the gifts were always remembered. But it was the card that mattered the most to her. She loved cards, be they for a birthday, an anniversary, some holiday or other, she loved to open the envelopes, read the printed words, but more importantly, see what he’d written to her.
She loved the ones that came with flowers, especially those with carnations. Her son never explained why he preferred red; she, after all, always loved white ones. Still, it was the thought that counted, and he did make sure to bring along both red and white carnations on her birthday.
Still, it was the cards that she displayed on their kitchen table where everyone could see them. They spoke of the love of her beloved, family, sons, daughters, grandchildren, and more. Each and every year, her eldest’s card was the first to appear, to take its place and be shown to all that came.
These were not something to be disposed of. Not something to be brushed away in the aftermath of the celebrations. The love of her family brought the choice—though it wasn’t so much a choice as a heartfelt love—to keep them …
… every one of them.
He always remembered. From the first, covered in macaroni, to the very last, covered in tears, he never missed one. If he had but only enough for a card and nothing more, there would be a card given. He was her son, he loved her, and so it was.
He holds this year’s card, the words within seen by him, known by her, sealed with tears. There’s a place beside her, a spot to lay a card, to be placed beside the red urn carved with white flowers. To keep the love alive, the promise continuing, the hope never ending. The crystal vase beside her will have the red and white carnations, the card will be resting between, bridging the space between.
The family will came to visit, spend time together, sharing in the love of family on this day. The time will go by in a flash, the family going off again, leaving him, as is the way things are, to be the very last to leave. He’ll find a chair, drawing it over to sit with her. He’ll talk to her, wishing her a happy birthday, crying, knowing she heard him.
Tomorrow he’ll come and take the card away, seeing that it wasn’t opened, that none had seen what he’d written inside. The walk from her place, down the stairs, will be in silence, alone, as he doesn’t want anyone to see the drawer opened, the one that only he knows of. It is the drawer she’d locked, to keep what mattered to her safe from other eyes. The card set will be inside, next to the bundles of cards bound by her hand. He’ll stand there, looking at all of them, the tears coming. A whispered word, a quiet wish, then the drawer will be closed and locked once more …
… until the next Mother’s Day …
… until the first anniversary of Goddess calling her home …
…until his Eternal’s Birthday … and then his own.
The drawer holds the tale of love: a mother’s love, a son’s and daughter’s love, a beloved’s special kind of love. All of the love that comes from love she’d given from the first moment and eternally.
He’ll turn from the room, dim the lights, and close the door, leaving the room in darkness and shadow … save for one thing: the light from within the drawer doesn’t go away. The light within himself, the love he has, never will.
For that love, given by a mother to her son, is everything … on a birthday shared in love.