The simplest tasks can be the most meaningful.
The time that you spent making chocolate chip cookies, really only to eat the dough.
The many times that you made rice krispie treats, piled so high they spilled over the top of the pyrex dish.
You never bothered to push them down, make them fit.
They were free form, much like you.
The sandwiches you’d make with the extra sauce you brought home from ChickFilA.
The way you’d put candy bars in the ice tray to freeze them.
When I used to bake for you. You’d tell your friends ‘my mom is the best baker’.
When you were in rehab and I made multiple batches of Uncle Scott’s Favorite Cookies for you and you shared them with everyone in the house.
They would ask you to call me and request more.
You were the youngest there.
After you died, I heard from so many of those guys.
Guys that you may normally not have come across in your day to day life, but you left an impression on them as they did on you.
The simplest things can be the most beautiful.
I keep all of the gifts you gave me over the years in a special place now.
It’s too painful to see them out.
They are stored away for safe keeping.
The pearl necklace you brought to me from Mexico last year, the box you brought from Germany, the jewelry over the years.
For someone so young, you had the biggest heart and now when I look back, the oldest soul.
I look for you everywhere.
Instead of waiting to see signs from you, I have decided that every day I will send you a sign.
Something simple.
A task, a note, an act of kindness.
I baked cookies this week for the first time since you’ve been gone.
I gave them out and sent them to Peter.
It felt right.
Yesterday while I was on the phone with Katherine, an enormous hawk flew right by the window and soon after, an eagle followed.
These simple places are where I’ll see you.
I know that you’re my light.
It’s the simple things.
Taking note of the simplest things is my form of looking for you and my form of praying that you are watching me every minute.
I know you are. I believe.