Your Mark

From the moment you could stretch your hands out to touch things, you did. But you did not just touch things, you affected things. Your hands were constantly moving and stained with colors and textures, and you found ways to saturate your whole world with them. The stains spread from your hands to your face to the walls—you left your mark everywhere you went.

The art you created wasn’t just from makeup and markers—though it most often was—but any texture, taste, or sound that you could shake out, shape, and authenticate.

You continue to leave your creative designs on anything that will take the ink—always creating, making this world a little brighter, a little fuller.

As you’ve gotten older, your pictures and art have become more vibrant and alive. I’ve watched as you marveled over the power of markers, how pleasantly they created for you, not knowing all the times we hid them.

Now, as you’ve marched from toddler to child, you still mark the world with your multitude of drawings and creations. I cherish each one you give me—each way you try to write grandma—and follow it with “I love you” and your name. As if I would mistake your art for some other child—some other magical mystical creature. Pressing your stained hands on people’s hearts. Hands marked with all the colors the world has offered to you. Someday, you’ll mark the whole world with the love in your heart.

Photo by Senjuti Kundu on Unsplash