Notes of Love

Bell’s fingers, usually so nimble when sketching or building with blocks, felt a little shaky as she uncapped the sparkly blue pen. The paper in front of her was crisp and white, waiting. She looked at the empty jar that sat beside her, a glass vessel soon to be filled with something more precious than any toy. It was her idea, a way to remind Mom and Dad of all the sunshine they’d shared, even when the clouds seemed to be gathering.

Her teddy bear, Barnaby, sat propped against the jar, his button eyes gazing at her with silent encouragement. Bell often talked to Barnaby, especially when she felt a whisper of worry tickle her tummy. Today, she told him, “Mom and Dad are so busy, Barnaby. Sometimes I think they forget how much I love them, and how much they love me.” She hugged him tight, his worn fur a familiar comfort.

She thought back to the day they’d gone to the park, the one with the giant slide and the swings that went so high they tickled the clouds. She remembered Dad pushing her, his laughter a deep rumble, and Mom cheering her on from the bench, her smile as bright as the sun. Bell carefully wrote, “Remember the picnic in the park? We ate sandwiches and laughed so much!” She underlined “laughed” twice, picturing their happy faces.