Little Things

It’s the little things that catch, that snag, that remind me how different things are now.

Like the fact that when she says “sure” it sounds like “sir.”

Or the fact that her hair isn’t flipped out on the sides anymore. If you know my mom, you know she always liked to look her best – hair, makeup, earrings, the whole deal. So not having her hair all fancy looking is weird.

Or that she can’t say “I love you,” she can only say “I love you too.” And that that is her response to me saying “goodnight,” or me saying “see you tomorrow,” or to anyone saying “goodbye.” She can’t form the words to give any other response. (Granted, it’s not a bad response to have – it’s nice to hear “I love you too” over and over again. But every time I hear it out of place, my reality snags again.)

But it’s also the little things that make me so glad that I can spend time with her.

Like her tenderness, especially as she’s falling asleep. The ways she says “I love you too” and “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Or her laughter. She laughs a lot, and every time it brightens up the room.

Or her sound effects. She makes sound effects when I help her get around – she learned it from my dad, because he says that life is better with sound effects.

It’s the little things.