I don't remember when the notes started. But somewhere along the way, Bill started leaving me notes. Post-its, random scraps, torn pieces from a daytimer...little notes. I find them on the mirror, on the kitchen counter, taped to my alarm clock, his love in writing to be discovered before the day can let me forget.
We are word people. This is our language.
They are small, and the themes are simple and repetitive, but these little squares quilt my heart and keep the cold and lonely away.
Tonight Landon brought out a lovely latched basket that I had not noticed was missing. Inside was a package he had wrapped with two colors of construction paper and twice as much tape.
"I made this for you," he said to Bill.
"What is it?" he asked.
"It's for you."
Bill peeled back the outer layer. A white paper emerged. In fact, there was nothing but paper. Scraps Landon had cut and "written" on. A heart with more tape and writing. And his main attraction, a full sheet covered with letters from an alphabet stencil.
"What does it say?" Bill asked.
"It's love. It's loving words. It's a note I wrote for you and it says I love you and we can go to a theater together."
Bill and I share one of those glances that say more than it's worth trying to express aloud.
My eyes get glassy and my throat gets tight.
We are word people.
This is our oldest son learning our language.
My heart is so full, I find I must write it all down while I can still remember it. Just.like.this.
Even as I type, a few aisles in every grocery store have exploded with red and pink, candy and cards. There's a day on the calendar marked to express and share love, in all its preference for red and pink, candy and cards. And the day may pass at the Brown house with nobody remembering to mention it at all.
Just as you can't create an entire beautiful quilt in a day, our love is grown in small bits-
one post-it, one calendar scrap, one construction-paper-wrapped collection of words at a time.