Mother's Day

Spoiler! :

My Mother's Day gift for a few years now has been a little literary peice from the heart that tells her how much I love her. I just procrastinated to the last minute this time. I wasn't going to post this at first, but then I thought it turned out really great.

This is to my mom who has always helped whatever hurt.

A car pulled into a familiar driveway, and a door slammed soon after. The jingle of three keys connected by a ring twirling around a finger intermingled with the murmured, slightly off-key singing that repeated what had just played on the radio. A woman came into view, pulling a pot of gerber daisies out of the trunk, and stuck a pink envelope under her arm. Closing the trunk with her elbow, she glanced into the window that allowed the world to see the yellow kitchen warmly cluttered and smiled at him cooking dinner, his back turned to her.

She walked toward the stairs leading up to a front porch, running her free hand over the railing as she jogged up the steps. Between the third and fourth step, she jerked her hand back, stopping as she did so, and inspected the pad of her third finger. A splinter of wood painted a beige that had a tendency to appear pink every few years sat on a cushion of red. Maybe it was being home after a while away, maybe it was that specific day.

She had the urge to tell her mother.

Instead, she ignored it to continue on her journey to the front door. The circumstance, small and insignificant though it is, had sparked memories that remained cold on a normal day.

These memories consisted of a different house, as well as the one in front of her, of a younger age, of bikes and scooters and playgrounds.

She had experienced the terror splinters. She had screamed and wiggled, prolonging the procedure as the tweezers approached, calming at soft words and a band-aid to catch the drop of blood lost. She had watched as the process was repeated by one treated with the same kind words, offering nonsensical advice to help, to feel grown-up, as the lips stopped wobbling.

Monkey bars, swings, slides. All of it a breeding ground for the horrific skinned knee and smarting hands. The fix was the wonders of a super sized band-aid or two and a kiss where it hurt, maybe an extra on the forehead if the crisis was of the inconsolable.

Even the despised sunburn was lessened in its agony with a sympathetic conversation, some aloe, an extra dose of sunscreen, and a big floppy hat to continue with vacation.

The door swung open, and the woman jumped, flung out of her musings. “Mom!” She beamed and offered the daisies, resting the card on top. Hesitating, she finally said, to make her mother aware of the situation despite her movement into adulthood, “Do you have any tweezers? I have a splinter.”