The Little Things Add Up

  Sometimes very meaningful words can cross your path. You file them away and never really consider how they have affected you. Back in the day we would copy something out by hand, or cut it out of a newspaper or magazine. Now we click and save. Last week I had an old newspaper clipping come back for a visit. 

My eyes filled with tears as soon as I saw my son reading it, and I was not sure why. I could not remember what the clipping was. I knew that it had been important to me when I first read it. I had glued it into his baby book when he was an infant. That is a very busy time of life, and yet I had taken the time to cut it out and glue it in so I would not forget. 


I had gotten his baby book out on my birthday. It was also his birthday, and he was now the same age I was the day I gave birth to him and held him in my arms for the first time. He was my first child, the one that created the mother I was. Now he is a man and he is such a love of mine.

“This isn’t you at all, Mom. This isn’t you.” His face looked so serious.

What important thing had I forgotten decades ago? The strips of newspaper were starting to turn yellow.
It was a little scary.
I reached for the book.  

 



TO MY GROWN UP SON

My hands were busy through the day

I didn’t have much time to play

The little games you asked me to.

I didn’t have much time for you.

I’d wash your clothes; I’d sew and cook,

But when you’d bring your picture book

And ask me please to share your fun,

I’d say: “A little later, son.”

I’d tuck you in all safe at night

And hear your prayers, turn out the light,

Then tiptoe softly to the door…

I wish I’d stayed a minute more.

For life is short, the years rush past…

A little boy grows up so fast.

No longer is he at your side,

His precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away,

There are no longer games to play,

No goodnight kiss, no prayers to hear…

That all belongs to yesteryear.

My hands once busy, now are still.

The days are long and hard to fill.

I wish I could go back and do

The little things you asked me to.”

Author Unknown



Unknown mother with deep regret, you may have written this decades ago and be long gone from this earth and yet what a gift you gave to me. I hope you were a hovering angel when my adult son said; 
"This isn't you at all, Mom. This isn't you."