Blair:
It had taken Blair Sandburg days to find the right card. He'd searched hi and low and everywhere in between, but nothing had caught his eye until that morning.
He shook his head as he grabbed a chair at the dining room table and sat. The whole thing had been a fluke, really. If he hadn't been bending down to pick up the prescription that Mrs. Montgomery had dropped, he might not have ever found the card with the Bali Batik pattern. He smiled at the memories of long ago travels and Naomi in a dress with a similar design. She'd loved that dress and it had always made her seem more. More alive, more joyful, more loving, more playful. Just more.
Blair hoped that when the card finally found Naomi wherever she was, she would remember. Remember distant journeys and staying at home, celebrations and mourning, and just being there for each other. And he hoped that *that* something more would return - taking away the sadness and guilt left over from the whole dissertation mess.
A knock at the door interrupted his musings. He gently placed the card in a safe spot and headed for the entrance, making sure he had the safety latch securely fastened before asking who it was.
"World Wide Deliveries, sir. I have a package for a Mr. Blair Sandburg."
Blair, remembering past lectures from his roommate, cautiously opened the door just wide enough for him to see the guy's ID, uniform, and the box. Once he was satisfied, he pushed the door closed, releasing the latch, and opened it so that he could sign for it. "That's me. Sorry about that. You just can't be too careful these days."
"Hey, man, I understand. It's gotten to the point where I hate delivering to some places because I'm afraid." The young man held onto the box and placed an electronic signature board on top for Blair. "If I could just get your signature right here and I'll be on my way."
"No problem." Blair signed and then reached into his pocket for a couple of bills. "Thanks," he added as he handed over the bills and took possession of the box. "I hope you don't have too many more stops tonight."
"I don't, thank goodness. You were my last." The delivery guy tipped his head and raised the money up a little. "Thanks and you have a nice day."
Blair closed the door, making sure to lock it, and frowned down at the package. It wasn't very big - in fact, it was about the size of a large book. He tried to remember if he had ordered anything lately, but he drew a blank. Just as he was about to put the box on the table, he caught sight of a familiar handwriting. "Mom," he said with a little chuckle. "What have you been up to?"
He grabbed a pair of cooking scissors, hoping that Jim wouldn't notice, and used them to cut around the seams of the box. He pulled the flaps apart and discovered what appeared to be a cloth-wrapped book with a note attached. Blair recognised Naomi's graceful script and could only smile at the words "Read This First" across the envelope. Lifting the note out of the box, he grabbed the scissors again and used them to slit the envelope's top. As he pulled the pretty, recycled stationery out, he managed to hook his foot in the chair he'd been sitting in before a little closer so that he could be comfortable for whatever Naomi was throwing at him.
Without worry of disturbing his still-at-work Sentinel, Blair began to read out loud.
"My dearest Blair,
"I hope this package finds you happy and well. It is being sent with only the best intentions and lots of love. I'm really enjoying my trip. There's just something about Tibet that speaks to my soul and heals me. I believe in the work that I'm doing and it makes me feel honoured to help those that really need it.
"And I guess that about sums up my problem when I was in Cascade this last time.
"I'm sorry, Blair. I know. I know. I said it so many times while I was there, but I've had a lot of time to think about what happened and why it happened. To put it simply, I was being selfish. I needed to feel like you still needed me. I needed to be the one to give "my little boy" that final boost to all of his dreams. I needed to know that you had become all of the things that we had known you could be. I needed to believe that all of my hopes and faith in you were proven to the world.
"Are you seeing the problem, here? *I* needed. Not what you needed. Not even what you wanted. I couldn't accept that you were, if not happy, at least content with your life. I didn't want to believe that you had reasons for doing things the way you had - that you knew what was best for your life … and Jim's.
"So, in what I told myself was an act of motherly love, I did the unforgivable. I tried to fix your life - set it back on the path that *I* thought it should be on. I never once questioned my motives or that it wasn't what you wanted. I even deluded myself that you were shy about your writing, when you've never been shy about anything.
"See. What did I tell you? Selfish. It's not something I want to accept about myself, but it's honest. And honesty is the least I owe you.
"I know that I can't undo what I did and I don't believe in dwelling in the past. The only way I can even hope to begin making amends is by supporting whatever *you* choose is your future.
"This package is a start. Happy Mother's Day to the best present I ever received!
"I love you, Blair. Don't ever doubt that. Though you may question my place in *your* life, please know that you will always be the best thing in mine.
"Take care, be safe and kiss Jim for me (Just kidding!)"
"Oh, Naomi," Blair sniffed as he swiped at the tear rolling down his face, "no matter what, I've never questioned your place in my life. You're my mom." Placing the letter on the table, he reverently turned the covered gift over and found where it had been bound. He undid the small piece of tape and pulled off the cloth, displaying what turned out to be two books.
The first book was a covered wire-bound that reminded him of lab days gone by. He flipped it over and couldn't stop the little chuckle that escaped him as he read the title, "'The LSI Basic Course on S(cientific)C(ontent)AN(alysis) - A New, Innovative and Effective Technique for Obtaining Information and Detection of Deception by Analysing the Words People Use.' You have got to be kidding! Of all the police manuals out there, leave it to you to find this one." He opened the cover to find more of Naomi's flowing script. "'This would have been so useful when you were growing up. :-) Anyway, I thought this would be a good manual for you. It would help you to put that psych minor to good use. Love Mom.' "
Shaking his head at his mom's rather interesting ideas of gift giving, he reached for the second book and froze. The book was very thin and the cover was made from fine leather. The lettering was gold and seemed to stand out from the dark covering. With shaky hands, Blair traced the words that had given him pause - "By Blair Sandburg."
"What are you playing at, Naomi? Cruelty has never been your thing." Taking a deep breath, he opened the cover and found one single linen page with Naomi's handwriting on it. "'Blair, I hope that you don't think I'm being cruel. I'm not. I just wanted you to see how wonderful your name would look. You needed to see this so that you would know that nothing is out of your reach - that no doors are closed forever. Whatever the title you choose, you need to remember that you are the constant. You are what will fill these pages. You are what will make the words so important. Don't forget that and don't let anyone else tell you differently. I love you."'
Closing the cover and wiping away a few more errant tears, Blair whispered, "Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you, too."
Jim:
It was a rather normal Sunday in the main precinct of the Cascade Police Department. Though it was a weekend, officers and civilians were moving to and fro fulfilling their duties with as much noise as possible. Every department was alive with some type of activity - except one.
Very little noise, if any, could be heard from Major Crimes. It was almost like no one was there, but it was pretty obvious by the movement behind the glass doors, it was a full shift. Few words were exchanged and when they were, they were uttered in soft whispers. Even the typewriters and keyboards seemed to be clicking quietly.
The reason for the deference was seated at his desk and, it was obvious to all around him, he was very sick. Detective Jim Ellison, the kick-ass defender of the wronged, was getting his own ass kicked by a nasty virus. He'd tried to shrug it off as nothing and he'd even managed to fool Blair into believing he was fine. That had worked until he'd set foot in Major Crimes. All the sights, sounds and smells conspired against him until he had to accept one true fact - he was sick.
Once he recognised this, his attitude took a turn for the worse. Jim Ellison hated to be sick. He hated the sneezes, the coughing, the drainage, the headaches, the body aches and he especially, most definitely hated feeling like he wasn't on top of his game. So, as a result, the good detective was not in a good mood and, therefore, Major Crimes was at Defcon Ellison III - a named penned by Brown that meant all departmental personnel should behave as if they were in the middle of a very sensitive minefield. Jim didn't really care what they called it - as long as they left him pretty much alone he was fine and he didn't have to fill out any extra paperwork for killing a fellow officer for heavy-handed typing.
With reflexes that suddenly felt mired in molasses, he pulled a tissue out of the box before him and let out a horrendous blast that sounded more like a pissed off elephant than a man blowing his nose. He wondered if cutting off his nose would alleviate any of the pressure building steadily in his sinuses, but then he realised how much flak he'd catch from Sandburg for going to an extreme when something as simple as trying one of the observer's herbal remedies would suffice. Uh uh. No way. Cabin-pressurised sinuses were a small price to pay for avoiding the noxious brews that Sandburg concocted.
Figuring that he'd wasted enough time on his malady, Jim released a sigh and pulled out the card he had stashed inside his pocket. He carefully removed it from the envelope and stared at the cover of the card that read simply "Happy Mother's Day!" He had searched among the cards at the store and finally picked the most simple - the most sterile. All the others seemed wrong. Some read "Through the years…" Others spoke of the vast impact the mother had made as she guided her children successfully through the hurdles of childhood. None of those seemed appropriate - none of them spoke for him.
The Gold lettering on the white card seemed elegant in and of itself. He smiled as if he had finally found the right card after years of searching. Jim opened the simple card and admired the blankness. He stared at it for what seemed forever. Finally, giving in to the demands of his body, he wiped his nose and rubbed his brow. Damn! This was going to be hard enough. Why'd he have to be sick on top of it?
After a terrible sneeze, Jim began writing. "Hello, Mom. It's me, Jimmy. I know it's been a while since I last wrote, but things have been a little busy around here. You remember that guy I told you about last time - Sandburg? Well, some stuff went down with him and his dissertation during a big case and we had to sort some things out. I was my usual charming self, but we worked through it and I found out just how much of a friend he is. He gave up something really important to him to help me out. It really surprised me. I'm not used to people sacrificing themselves for me - usually they just leave.
"But that's a discussion for another time.
"Do you remember all those hours you spent teaching me to tie my shoes so the next day at school I could get the sucker promised to all the children who could tie their shoes?" Jim paused. What if she didn't remember that? After all it was so many years ago. Why would she remember something so silly? He paused in thought for a moment until he brought to mind something he knew she would definitely remember. "Or how about the time I tried to teach myself to ride your bike and then spent the next eight hours in the E.R. getting stitches? To keep me from crying, you made those silly hospital glove-puppets and put on a show for me and a couple of the other kids. Those kids thought you were the greatest - and so did I - even after you passed out when the doctor started stitching me up.
"Those are some of the memories I keep. The happy times my heart tries not to forget, no matter how much my head tells me to forget."
Jim wiped at the moisture that escaped his eyes. "Damn sickness," he mumbled to no one in particular. Picking the pen up, he resumed his writing. "I hope you are well. I know it has been a long time. I just wanted you to know that I'm okay. My job is great - you know I always loved to play cops and robbers. My boss and co-workers watch out for me and Sandburg nags like you wouldn't believe, but it keeps me going." Jim stopped. How stupid was this. Still…"I've been Policeman of the Year for the past five years. I cannot say what makes me love my life or my job but I do. I love every bit of it. Even though you haven't been there, you still made it all possible. So thanks…not for being there because you weren't. Not for caring because it seems pretty obvious you don't. But, thanks for giving me a beginning. Every good story needs one. Your Son, Jimmy."
Sniffling a little, Jim just sat for a moment before finally placing the card in the envelope. He filled out the return address, simply addressed it "Mom" and attached a stamp to the right corner. Making sure no one was watching, he pulled out the lowest drawer and moved some barber advertisements out of the way to reveal what looked to be the bottom. Pulling out his keys, he located a tiny one and used it to unlock the miniature lock in the corner. As he raised the top, a vast assortment of letters was revealed. He reached in and pulled them out, releasing the clip he used to contain them before placing them on his desk. The one on top was obviously written by a much younger hand and was yellowed with age. It was addressed to Mom as well. Some of the envelopes were decorated with flowers or childish drawings and others were just plain with nothing setting them apart except their differing colours. Whatever was on the outside, all of them had one thing in common - the letters had smudges and smears where some type of moisture had fallen on to them. As Jim looked down, he noticed the new one wasn't any different.
He placed the card at the bottom of the pile and glanced at the others briefly. He just wasn't in the mood to go through them this year. Clipping the letters back together, Jim returned them to his hidden box and whispered, "Talk to you again next year, Mom. Happy Mother's Day - wherever you are."
Simon:
It had been a long week compounded with Ellison's injury and illness, his own recovery and reassuring the mayor and commissioner that Sandburg would not let any of them down. Simon's head was pounding and he was dying for a cigar, but the doctor had forbidden him from taking even the most tiniest of puffs for at least another week or so because of his injury. He hated it, but if it made him heal faster, he'd deal with it.
Simon figured that since he couldn't take care of the craving, he could at least get rid of the damnable headache. Hobbling like an old man, he finally managed to open the kitchen cabinet where he kept his headache meds. Though it had been a while since he'd been in the cabinet, he was still surprised to see the envelope propped up against his medicine. Before he could really question who, his subconscious recognised his son's fluid scrawl in the one word "'Dad'".
Leaning into the counter for balance and support, Simon managed to snag the envelope and the headache medicine without dropping either. He placed the bottle on the counter and pulled out of the envelope a card. A frown crossed his face as he read the "Happy Mother's Day" across the top and he wondered if Daryl had meant to leave this at his mom's place instead.
Figuring it wouldn't hurt, he opened the card. "'Dear Dad. Yeah, I know you probably thought I had accidentally left this at your place and you're now totally confused. Well, I like you confused. Shows that I can still throw my old man a loop every once in a while.
"'Anyway, this card is for you and I'm not crazy for sending it to you. All of this fancy schooling that you're paying for has taught me to look at definitions to better understand certain concepts. So, I looked up the word mother. Of course it had all of the stuff about women who gave birth, but what stood out in my mind was the part that said "one who nurtures". That started me to thinking and being the son of a cop, I did a little more investigating and found the same words under the definition of father.
"'In the moment after reading that, all of those times you were there for me flashed through my mind: my first real memory of you showing me off at the departmental picnic and your telling everyone around that I was going to be president one day; you taking me back to Mr. Ranby's store and watching as I tearfully apologised for taking that candy bar and paid him for it; you standing beside my hospital bed, rubbing my head, and not being afraid to let me see you cry when they thought I had leukaemia; you coming home from an all-night stakeout and then a really long day and helping me work on my basketball skills so I could make the team; you teaching me how to catch a fish, work out a geometry problem, and cook; you taking all of the blame for the divorce, so that I wouldn't lose faith in my mom - even though it was her affaires that caused the break-up; and finally, you taking all of my abuse and anger and still being willing to die to protect me.
"'In that little bit of time, I realised what nurturing meant and I understood how important being my dad was to you. I guess you could even say I grew up a lot in that moment, but that's not what's important.
"'What's important is that I tell you how much those times and you mean to me. I needed to tell you that when my friends were falling back on other things to comfort and support them, I knew that I could fall back on you and no matter what water was under our bridge, you'd always be there. I needed to say I love you and I respect you and I'm proud that you're my dad, because I do and I am.
"'So, every Mother's Day and Father's Day and Groundhog's Day and, hell, Flag Day, I'm going to tell you what and how much you mean to me until I've said it enough. Which, by my calculations, won't happen for an eternity.
"'I love you, Daddy. "Happy "One Who Nurtures" Day.'"
Simon hadn't realised he'd started crying until he saw a tear hit the card. He wiped at his eyes, letting out the most joyous laugh. The week didn't look so bad any more and the day seemed a little brighter as he headed for his study, whistling and cradling his beloved card - totally forgetting the headache medicine that he suddenly no longer needed.
The End