It seemed winter
would never come. November became December,
and still snow evaded. If only snow had
floated leisurely from the sky, if only the temperatures had plummeted, then
perhaps I could have been a little more inclined to get into the spirit of
Christmas. A white Christmas wasn’t to
be and soon the New Year dawned.
Once
the holidays were a memory, the snow arrived, the wind chill factor became a
daily concern, and barely into the new semester, snow days were inevitable and
midwinter break was officially lost. And
so winter begins; now, I am longing for spring.
While sorting through my mom’s belongings after her death I came across something I never knew existed. Buried in a box of pictures and memorabilia I discovered a diary. I peeked inside its cover and quickly recognized my mother’s flowing handwriting filling each page in blue ink. While glancing through the pages, I realized this was a diary she had kept while she had been pregnant with me!
A picture of her a few short weeks before my birth was saved within. My heart thrilled at my discovery and I devoured each word as a starving person would a meal.
Mom‘s were put on this earth to worry about their kids. “Be careful!” my mother warned over the years for countless reasons. I almost always took her advice. When I didn’t, I learned the hard way. I would walk instead of run. I would be careful what I wished for, because I might not really want that wish if I ever truly obtained it. That lesson was a little harder to learn. When my children arrived I began warning them to be careful. I protect them. I want them to be safe. “Be careful!” is a warning laced with love.
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