my face

Turning from the bed I felt compelled to search my dresser. Rummaging through drawer after

drawer proved futile, until finally, in the last drawer, clear in the back I felt it. It was

a small, white box with my name scribbled on top in a child"s handwriting. Prying it open, I

was instantly transported back in time.

Conan had been about ten years old, and it was the night before going on vacation to

Florida. He was going with us, and I was packing in my room when I heard a knock on my door.

Conan stood there, his eyes downcast and his hands behind his back.

"What is it, son?" I asked, concerned by this unexpected visit.
Shuffling his feet, he quickly mumbled, "I don"t know why I don"t call you "Mom" very often,

even though I call my stepdad "Dad.""

I hugged him and reassured him he was free to call me whatever he was comfortable with. Then

suddenly, with a wry smile on his pudgy face, he handed me the small, white box.

"You choose," he said, and darted from the room.

Assuming I"d find two items inside the box, I opened it. Instead, I found the single gold

wheat pin he"d bought at a garage sale with his own money.

Scribbled inside the lid of the box were the words, "I Love You. To Mom or Connie."

That had been almost a decade ago, yet as I pushed the spilled contents of my jewelry box

aside and slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, it felt like yesterday.

Thank you, God, for finding this pin, and for the closure that comes with it.

Wiping the tears from my face, I reflected on an angelic little boy whose heart beat close

to mine.

I still choose "Mom."