Gemotions

He’d always thought his mother’s love manifested in her tireless work ethic. Mark had never considered a sentimental side. Until he found the box in the linen closet. Inside were his childhood art projects, a collection of misshapen clay figures, crayon drawings, and construction-paper cutouts.

He pulled out a particularly messy collage, a riot of mismatched colors and textures. It was absurd, chaotic, and beautiful. He heard his mother’s voice, urging him on. He remembered her, sitting with him at the kitchen table, helping him cut and paste.

He saw in the artwork the messy, imperfect beginnings of a life. And her silent support, her belief. He felt a wave of gratitude, a deep appreciation for the quiet ways she'd shown her devotion. He folded it carefully.