My mom blessed me with her presence and lessons that I still carry in my heart. I love to recall all the beauty she shared and reminisce about all of our loving and joyful memories. She ignited my love for books and writing.
“Storytime” my mom would call every evening. Magic to my ears. I would snuggle in my parents King size bed, with my mom, dad, sister, and brother desperate to be lucky enough to be right next to my beautiful mom. However, often settling for a foot, hand, or finger gently touching her soft skin sandwiched next to my baby brother.
I recognized at a young age the magical powers of books due to our evening tradition. Books transported me to far off lands, melting borders, shrinking oceans, and inspiring my imagination. I loved the knowledge, and excitement that captivated my attention with every page. Our laundry tub of library books changed weekly. Every week the tub of books provided me with new discoveries and possibilities.
Looking back I realize it wasn’t the actual book or fantasy land that mattered. It was the feeling of complete love beyond love being nestled next to my special mom and siblings. In that moment all was perfect. All was peaceful and calm. The woman I loved with all my heart took time out of her busy day with 3 young children. Piles of laundry waited, cleaning halted as she was present and poured her love simply with her words and affection every evening.
I long to hear her call with her big smile “Storytime” or to hear any of her words. The tradition lives on and continues. Now the only difference is it is me reading the stories to my 3 babies.