When I was a little girl, I remember my mom coming into my bedroom, gently waking me up for school.

“Rise and shine,” she’d said enthusiastically, as she opened the curtains to my bedroom window.

I loved school. I always have.

It was winter. And I remember I had this activity book that I had to do. My mother helped me read it. And for that day, it read that I was responsible to draw a heart on the window of my bedroom in the condensation.

“Condensation?” I asked, “what’s that, Mom?”

And then, without hesitation, my mom lifted me to the window, and took my finger in hers and together we drew a heart in the condensation on the glass.

She gave me a kiss and helped me get ready for school. I was in preschool at that time. Had just turned 5.

Condensation, was what I thought of as, you know, steam.

I don’t know if she’d remember that. If she’d remember this story. She had five children by that time, and she was just a little older than I am now. An amazing mother.

And so I wonder, you know, when was it that my childhood spirit, when everything that awed me became cemented under a deep layer of time and responsibility?

When was it that I stopped staring at the gentle, rolling clouds and turning them into dinosaurs and unicorns and puppy dogs?

Time, like glass, is so fragile. Time takes things and erases them. Only a couple memories survive. Only those that touch our soul so deeply that they leave a mark on our heart.

The day we drew a heart in the condensation, my mother and I drew a memory in my heart. One I will cherish forever and for always.

When was the last time I drew a heart in the bedroom window, I wonder?

Or on the shower screen?

I think, perhaps, I’ll do that tonight.

Yes, I think I will.

3 thoughts on “Heart On The Glass and A Mother’s Love

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