I am in my friend’s floral shop.

A young woman and her mother sit in the event consultation room. The girl excuses herself to use the restroom. Instead, she secretly tiptoes towards the counter and purchases flowers.

She turns and bounces back towards the room – smile on face and flowers in hand. 

It is a ‘moment.’

A love-filled moment. 

The mom beams at her grown daughter and gushes at the beauty of the flowers and her impish delightful maneuver to commander them.

Time doesn’t really move on with a mother and her child. It simply shifts.

The same loving exchanges we played out as children find their way back as we age.

We once toddled through the grass yanking dandelions, buttercups, and violets only to race towards our moms in the grandest of gestures.

I picked this for you!

You are the most important person in my world!

You are everything to me!

There is nothing more generous than a child’s love except for the mothers who taught them how.

I watch this cute exchange of love and I fight the lump making its way from my heart to my throat.

I see mothers and daughters all the time. I witness their laughter, their love transactions, and more. It simply makes me happy even though I can no longer experience it. I feel privileged to witness these moments – lumps and all.

The unpenetrable love of a mother and child and this exquisite word called ‘MOM.’

But there is something I rarely tell anyone. A twenty-something daughter and mother sharing a ‘love-filled moment’ has a profound effect on me.

I know the reason. 

It is a mirror of the last divine steps I took with my own mother.

It would be the age I was to lose her.

Therefore, I am momentarily mesmerized by this young girl, her mom, and their playful and generous love.

My eyes are watching them but my heart is thinking of my mom and me.

It is the two of us. We are shopping and lunching and laughing. Doing the things mothers and daughters do. She beams when she looks my way, her perfect teeth with the slight signature overlap. Her gray, wavy chic hair framing her beautiful face while her hand grabs mine with that familiar touch.

We are living love.

All because a young woman chose to delight her mom  – to pick her flowers once again.

I receive this gift.

It is brief…

But for a glorious second, I revisit that irreplaceable bond. 

I am yanking dandelions, buttercups, and violets. We are exchanging love the way we did from the beginning. I race towards her in the grandest of gestures. Time hasn’t moved on it has simply shifted.

I get to say…

I picked this for you!

You are the most important person in my world!

You are everything to me!

We are living love.

(Photo courtesy of Pexels)

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