1, 2, 3 on Mama

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On my back with rose bush thorns and pussy willows all around me gazing up at the sky.  Watching him standing there, looking around, unsure.  His small voice tinged with worry- “Mama?”  I made a little beeping noise and he laughed.  He moved around the bushes, cautiously, but comforted by my obvious presence.  Finally we made eye contact and he began to laugh.  He ran towards me shouting “1, 2, 3 on Mama!”  He lay down in my arms, head on my chest.  “That was a good hiding spot- you really tricked me.  Thanks for the clue.  I was beginning to get a little worried you left the bushes.”  I smoothed his hair.  We played for about 20 minutes, taking turns hiding and seeking.  This is my childhood.  These are the bushes I moved to 23 years ago.  I am 5, laughing up at the hole in the sky surrounded by trees.  This is my solace.  My safe place.  My secret garden.

I show him the pussy willows.  We pick some to take home to Gramma.  Just like my Grandfather used to do every spring.  He looks at me and says “I know Gramma will love these, my blood is her blood and my blood is her Dad’s blood and we share the same genes.  This is what family means.”

We skip, hand in hand while he sang a song about spring and love.  At the end of his hand is his mother.  At the end of my hand is my heart.  We run the rest of the way home.

My heart, all hot and sweaty, rips off his shoes and runs to his Gramma with his honest bouquet.  And she knows just what he is talking about.