ny compliments2 that only a seven-year-old would notice. I was in charge of receiving baby Paul’s letters, page after page of colored scenes including flowers with happy faces.
“He can’t read yet,” she whispered. “But he can look at the pictures.”
Each time I received one of my little girl’s gifts, it brightened my heart.
I was touched at how carefully she observed our moods. When Stephen lost a baseball game, there was a letter telling him she thought he was the best ballplayer in the whole world. After I had a particularly hard day, there was a message thanking me for my efforts, completed with a smile face tucked3 near the bottom corner of the page.
This same little girl is grown now, driving off every day to the community college. But some things about her have never changed. One afternoon only a week or so ago, I found a love note next to my bedside.
“Thanks for always being there for me, Mom,” it read. “I’m glad that we’re the best of friends.”
I couldn’t help but remember the precious child whose smile has brought me countless hours of joy throughout the years. There are angels among us. I know, I live with one of them luckily.