brother love

I watched as he fingered through the tiny beads,

 carefully choosing which ones would suite her best. 

 A pink one with a rose engraved in the center. 

 A creamy fresh water pearl.

Two round glass beads, both light green. 

 He chattered while he designed, placing the beads on the felt board,

and switching the order once or twice. 

As he began to string, I was left to ponder this change in him. 

He’d asked me the week before to help him make her a Christmas gift. 

 Something pretty that she’d really like.  

A beaded bracelet was just to his liking,
and he reminded me every day

 until it was Christmas Eve,
and we had locked ourselves in my office

with the box full of pretty beads. 

This boy, my son,
who seemed often to look for ways to fight with her,

 was crafting a gift,
 a treasure of time and talent to give her for Christmas.

His heart opened wide, anxious to wrap it,

and adorn it with a special ribbon he’d found
 and was saving for just this occasion. 

 He was so proud, and honestly I was too. 

A glimpse of the man he will become,

 giving, and generous,

 like his father is. 

 A chance moment,

 peering into him

and seeing that part of his soul,

the part that loves and cares for others

more than himself.

We should do this every Christmas Eve, Mom. 

Just me and you. 

And then I know we have to. 

Because I like what I see. 

 Because moments like these don’t happen every day,
 or even every week. 

Because…he asked. 

I love you son!