Cameron has many favourite places, places that make him feel happy, comforted, warm, and loved.
The comfy chair, Mama’s bed, the airport when we’re going somewhere, the Island at the Lake, Point Holmes, the chair on the dock at the lake with a pile of towels, to name a few … and helping Grandma in her garden. Okay, it’s Grandpa’s too (sorry Dad), but he was in it mostly with Grandma this summer, and he thinks of it as Grandma’s Garden. They spent quite a while back there a couple of afternoons, with Cameron traipsing around to dump late-summer clippings into the bin, and hauling the bin around.
I know it’s a favourite place of his, without even having to ask.
He’d keep glancing over at Grandma as he worked, then stand up a little taller and look all proud of himself, helping.
He asks about working in the garden, just like at Grandma and Grandpa’s. I need to buy a rake and turn him loose in the yard.
But best of all, his small-sized gardening gloves are sitting by the door where he put them, in a basket. I’m not allowed to move them. And every now and then he goes to pick them up, and put them on.
Thinking about helping Grandma in the garden, Cameron?
A pause.
A smile.
Yeah.
