Sometimes it’s the smallest things that hold the most.
A season. A memory. A whole piece of someone we love.
This little coat,
which was never really ours to begin with,
was a hand-me-down,
passed to us with quiet stories
from a mama friend.
My first girl wore it,
spring sunlight caught in the fabric,
forest floors brushing the hem,
muddy boots and swing-set laughter
tucked into its pockets.
She wore it through seasons that slipped by too quickly,
days that felt long
but now live small and golden in my hands.
When she outgrew it,
I folded it gently,
like I could pause time if I tried hard enough,
and tucked it into a box in the attic,
hoping, quietly,
for another little girl to wear it someday.
And now here we are.
I pull it down,
shake the dust of waiting from its shoulders,
and suddenly,
it’s all there again in my hands,
the soft echo of her footsteps,
the way she reached for my hand,
the in-between moments I didn’t know I’d miss so much.
Now it belongs to my youngest,
ready for new days,
cloudy skies,
muddy puddles,
boots by the door and cheeks pink from the wind.
A second life,
a second story,
a whole new collection of memories
being sewn in, one day at a time.
But this time,
this little coat won’t be folded away
into a quiet box in the attic.
This time,
it will be passed hand to hand,
to another little girl,
in another family,
to carry on the story.
And how special is that,
to raise girls,
to hold these fleeting seasons,
to watch them grow
and still leave pieces of themselves behind
in something as simple
as a little coat.
I wouldn’t have it any other way. 🤍
A life shaped by seasons… and the things we pass down.