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“We made it at school!” Noah declared triumphantly, brandishing the folded purple construction paper in his hand. “Look, I made it in a heart, like for Valentine’s. But it’s purple ‘cause it’s not Valentines.” He beamed up at his mother, offering the heart with pride. “I put glitter on it too… I thought you’d like it.”
Olivia took the heavily decorated card and looked it over, unable to control the grin that lit up her face. “Noah, thank you, this is so thoughtful.”
“Okay, okay, now read it! On the inside!” Noah jumped up and down, his tone growing urgent.
“Alright, let’s see here…” Olivia opened the card to see I LOVE YOU MOMMY and best Mommy EVER in Noah’s typical crayon scrawl. “Oh, sweetie, I love you too.” She pulled him into a hug and kissed the top of his head—the sentiment “best Mommy ever” would be a silly statement to most parents, but to Olivia, it was worth its weight in gold. The slightest sting of tears came to her eyes as she held Noah close, knowing he was safe and sound.
Years later, Olivia found her son rifling through the plastic bin that she had deemed his “memory box” in his childhood bedroom. He was elbow-deep in old school papers and projects, a look of concentration on his face. “Hey,” Olivia said, watching Noah jump with a start. “Woah, hey, sorry—what’re you looking for?”
Noah glanced away bashfully as he paused in his search. “Just, uh… that old recording of my first recital? I wanted to show it to my class; they practically begged to see it.”
“Let me help you, kiddo,” Olivia said, moving to stand beside him. “Oh, wow, look at all this.”
“You’re the one who saved it for me,” Noah countered, smiling to himself as he carefully stacked more folders and photo albums on the bed. A smaller shoebox was unearthed, and Noah opened it. “It’s gotta be in here.”
Olivia gasped. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said as she reached into the shoebox, “you kept this too?” It was the purple construction paper heart, slightly worn and creased with age, but the glitter and crayon stayed the same. “Best Mommy ever; I remember. The first Mother’s Day card you ever gave me.”
Noah now knew the weight the sentiment carried and pursed his lips, nodding solemnly. “It’s still true,” he said, leaning on her shoulder. “And always will be.”