When I first moved to Vancouver from Europe, my mom had just passed away and I was freshly separated. I had no friends in Vancouver, everyone I knew was elsewhere. It was a brand new city to me, other than the fact that my mom had spent the last few of her years here I had no ties to it. It had been just Child and I. It was freeing, but I was also very alone.

I took Child everywhere with me since I had no childcare and was still waitlisted for daycare. I'd bring them lots of activities, puzzles, little toys, books, et cetera. The weight of things factored into what I brought too because I walked everywhere, so a lot of the times it's just luke, me, and a backpack. If there are no stairs involved in the planned trip, maybe a stroller.

I brought paper with us a lot.

We'd do little paper crafts. I'd make them little paper boats, paper airplanes, paper cranes. that was the extent of my origami skills. I got them origami books and we'd follow along. paper was easy to carry around and keep a child entertained, paper was cheap both in cost and carrying space.

For my 37th birthday Child gave me an origami bouquet of roses and tulips, and a water lily. They were made with colourful post-it notes, neon green, orange, and pink. They are delicately folded, lovingly curled at the tips. I think, in my moment of over joy I froze. This little child of mine, who refuses to fold a piece of paper edge to edge with a clean slat across the middle, this little child of mine who shoves their homework into their backpack with a punch-like motion -- they sat in repose and folded post-it notes into little roses and tulips, dozens of water lily petals. Where did they find the stillness and patience?

When Child gave me the flower bouquet, it was with a soft timidness, almost embarrassment. "I was going to make you lilies, " they said, "because you love lilies but we can't have lilies at home any more because lilies are toxic for cats." They wanted to make some marigolds too, but they didn't have time. "Oh and the roses, they kept falling out, I lost a few." They lower their little head, they sounded sad and defeated. "Also my friend M made a flower too, but I forgot to put it in the bouquet."

"But they look so great!" Partner and I chimed in. "They look fantastic! Why are you focusing on what you didn't achieve, you did amazing!"

Child brightened up a little, and I watched their little face get less and less scrounged up as I continued to marvel at how beautifully crafted they were. Suddenly they sat up and began muttering -- "It's really poetic you know." "What's really poetic?" "How some roses were lost, but the bouquet is still good, it's kind of like you mom, you lived all these lives, you are all these people, you've fallen a lot but you always get back up."

I think, at that moment my autistic brain went into overwhelm mode, and I was no longer able to process additional input. A warm wave of emotions rose up in me like a gentle tide as I thought of little Child, aged three or four, clumsily following my lead to make a paper crane with their toddler fingers. Us all alone all these years until I met Partner.

The little child that I made paper cranes for made me a beautiful paper bouquet, and saw me for who I am. This little child is growing into their own person, and recognizes my personhood beyond being their mother. All those years of carrying the load of a single parent, I kept making mistakes and feeling awful about them. I worried about the mistakes permanently hurting Child somehow, I worried I was failing or not enough or not too much but in this moment I knew I did it, it was a success. The child that I folded paper cranes for just made me a paper bouquet.

It has taken me an entire day to sit in these feelings, writing this helped me process them some more. If you love a child, you try and try and try, you talk and talk and talk, they will blossom like a flower given the appropriate soil and sun. How reassuring this is.