The flowers smell wonderful. Your hand brushed them as you reached for the worn toy next to them, releasing their sweet aroma. You savor it, pressing the scent into your memory as you examine the homemade toy that already contains so many. You can still see the tiny teeth marks on it, and you smile, remembering that your baby unknowingly marked the block on the toy’s first play day.

It didn’t seem that long ago.

You step back, looking at the display. Wedding presents spill over the table under the nodding flowers. The picture of the smiling couple rests on the carefully balanced toys, the phrase ‘Just Married’ cheerily greeting each wedding guest.

A hand slips around yours, and you turn to look. Somehow, the wedding couple escaped the many congratulations and happy moments to come to be with you. They both stand around you, quietly looking at the little toy.

You whisper, “Grandma would have loved to have been here.”. Reflexively, you squeeze the Love Letter toy she had made. A knot forms in your throat, looking at the ‘Made With Love’ mark she had placed there.

A hand grips your shoulder and squeezes.

It takes a moment before you can speak again. You sniff, carrying tears away, and look at the happy couple. The tears you had forced away threaten to come back as you look at your baby. You reach over to touch their face.

“Not a baby any longer.” You say, still holding their tiny toy.

“No,” they say, smiling. They reach out and pull you in for a hug. “But always YOUR baby.”