Winona plunged her hands in the dishwater taking pleasure in the old-fashioned task. It gave her time to think or rather reminisce. Slowly scrubbing away at the plates and bowls gave her time to remember all that had been. She wiped the last glass and drained the sink, drying her hands on her apron.

She stared out the window without really seeing; her mind was in the past steeped in memories. She closed her eyes and drifted back into her own private reality.

It was morning, she remembered cooking breakfast. Sam was sitting at the table and she was scrambling eggs , carefully navigating the tiny kitchen , and awkwardly trying not to bump into anything with a belly swollen with pregnancy. As she flipped pancakes she had felt firm hands at her waist and then a slightly scratchy cheek resting against hers. A warm clean smell drifted towards her as somebody pressed against her and she turned her head slightly staring at a face that was as familiar as her own…George, she said softly in quiet acknowledgement. In response she felt gentle lips pressed against her own…

Winona jerked herself back from the memory, forcing herself not to dwell on the past. She had learned to deal with George's memory and even deal with his death but she would never accept it. And she could never forget him no matter how hard she tried. Even remarrying to Frank, a man who was so much the opposite of her husband and keeping herself busy didn't make the memories fade.

And how could she forget she thought bitterly. How would she ever forget when she had a living, breathing smaller version of her husband that she saw on a regular basis? How could she forget when the reason her, George was no longer with her—the reason she was left alone—was a daily reminder?

She thought of her two sons, Sam and Jimmy. Sam had his father's first name but there the resemblance stopped. He didn't have the same personality, not the passionate recklessness, not the thoughtful pensive quality, not even the natural intelligence that was almost genius that his father had. But her youngest son was almost opposite. He embodied his father so much that sometimes she accidentally called him George. He was so similar to his father that she hated him for it. She hated him for seeing her dead husband staring at her through his living eyes. She hated remembering those last desperate moments on the shuttle and the awful silence as the one person in life that she loved above all others sacrificed himself for -one thing. It wasn't the crew that he died for, not even her; it was the small baby she had cradled in her arms. And as time passed the joy and pain intertwined in her son's birth had faded leaving only an awful bitterness behind.

As much as she hated her son a small part of her loved him like no other. She loved him because he was all of George she had left. She loved him because one day he would grow up to be like his father and maybe then her George would be back. She loved him because George had died to save him and…she hated him for it.

Winona slowly crossed the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. She glanced at a calendar on the wall and noticed the day. It was mother's day. Children would be coming home from school with cards and presents. Husbands would be bringing flowers and sweets to their wives.

She sat down at the table and cradled her hot mug in her hand watching the slowly rising steam. She thought of her own children. Sam and Jimmy would probably be coming home soon and they would be bringing her something. But she didn't want the gifts. It didn't matter what they brought her because nothing and nobody could ever give her what she wanted most. The only thing she ever wanted was the person she loved. The thought of her youngest giving her anything made her cringe. He owed her so much more than he would ever know. He owed her his life. And he couldn't give back his father's life which had been stolen by his own… so no gift would ever be enough.

()()~~()()

Kirk had his tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth as he struggled to be as neat as possible. He carefully formed another letter, and then reached for a marker. His hand jerked making a stray mark as somebody touched his arm. He glanced up to see his teacher standing over him.

Mrs. Cass stared down at the small boy who had been in her class an hour and a half longer than everybody else, working on his card. She had watched as the child worked with single-minded determination, longer after anybody else his age would have loss interest.

"Are you finished James?" In answer Kirk held up his work and pointed out where the marker had made a line across the page and then several other areas. Mrs. Cass listened but inwardly she was still marvelling at how well he could write and spell for someone his age. As the little boy finished pointing out the flaws on his card she said. "James it's getting late and school will close soon. Why don't you take your card home and give it to your mother."

Kirk frowned then said quietly. "It' not perfect."

His teacher frowned. "It doesn't have to be perfect. You made it for her and she'll love it."

Kirk started to shake his head, but his teacher crouched next to his desk. She knew exactly what to say. He wasn't the only child she had ever dealt with who was convinced that everything had to be just so to be good. She knew he was naturally unsure of himself but she reassured herself that was all that was going on. After all she had met his mother and the woman all though distant, had seemed nice enough.

"Jimmy." Mrs. Cass said. "I don't lie do I?" She waited while Kirk hesitated then shook his head solemnly. She smiled slightly and continued. "Okay, I'm going to tell you this and I know it'll happen. You go in and give your mother the card and a big hug and she'll love it."

"But it's not perfect. I made some mistakes and…" Kirk broke off and stared down at his card. He felt a gentle hand on his chin and his head was turned slightly until he was staring into Mrs. Cass kind face.

Mrs. Cass felt sad herself as she beheld the expression on Kirk's face, but she ruffled his hair and said quietly. "That's okay she'll love it because she loves you." Kirk still looked unsure, but Mrs. Cass enfolded him in a brief hug. When he straightened up he felt better.

"Are you okay now?" his teacher asked. Kirk nodded, he felt better. Mrs. Cass had never lied to him.

Kirk quickly paced up his work and went to find his brother Sam. As he started for the exit he ran into Sam. His brother scowled and said "Where were you? I've been looking for you about thirty minutes and you know we have to get home before Frank."

"I'm sorry Sam, but look—" Kirk pulled his card out of his pocket.

Sam inspected the card cursorily and nodded then said. "Uh-huh it looks nice, I made one too. " At his younger brother's insistence Sam pulled a crumpled wad of cardstock from his pocket. Kirk glanced at it and passed it back. "Sam—" He paused wondering should he ask but decided Sam would know best, after all he knew almost everything else.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think Mom will like my card?" Kirk asked.

Sam didn't speak at first, so Kirk asked again. Finally Sam said. "Of course Mom will just don't make a big deal about it okay." Kirk noticed that his brother didn't look at him when he answered but he was relieved by Sam's answer anyway. His mother had to like it; it was at least better than Sam's. Kirk's was more perfect, and maybe she would see all the care he had taken and maybe , just maybe she'd look at him then like she looked at Sam. Not with those dead eyes like she was seeing someone else where he was or like he was dead… or should be.

Kirk shivered and bit his lip. He tried not to think about what he had seen his mother doing a week ago. He walked into his mother's bedroom to ask for something and found her kneeling on the floor by her bed. Something was clutched in her hands and she was crying. Quiet sobs that had seemed so loud and so painful, he wanted to go to her, but something held him back. As he watched her bent over her hair handing in her face as her shoulders shook he heard words. They words were quiet and muffled by sobs but audible and…understandable.

He froze as he heard her say "Oh, god. Why did it have to be you? Why did you have to die George? There were so many other people there, you didn't have to stay." She was quiet for a moment then she spoke again her voice was louder and continued to rise. "I'd take jimmy back a thousand times for you. It didn't matter if we died; at least we'd have been together. Goddamn it you didn't have to save him. You didn't have to save Jimmy and leave me alone. You could have let us die; you could have let him die." The last words were screamed.

Kirk remembered slipping out the room and he snuck out to the barn and watched the chickens. When the tears came he buried his head in the straw, because Frank had told him men didn't cry only weaklings did. And he didn't want to be a weakling, he was sure his father hadn't been a weakling. His mother had said he was perfect—but Kirk couldn't be like his father because he couldn't stop the tears from coming.

()()~~~()()

When the two boys got home, their mother was standing at the counter mixing a cake. They both walked in dropping their bags down. Sam immediately started talking and Kirk watched as their mother smiled and nodded as his older brother spoke. Winona finished mixing the cake and passed the bowl to Sam to lick. She noticed her youngest son staring at her and the hopeful expression on his face and she said. "You know you can't have this. If you lick this you'll be telling me later how your stomach hurts. "

Kirk immediately glanced down and shifted nervously. Winona felt slightly guilty at her words but even that washed away replaced by pain as she thought about her son's allergies and remembered how George had intolerances to several foods. Her expression hardened and she turned away from her youngest son.

Sam sensed the tension and glanced between his brother and mother. Then he waited till his mother's back was turned and offered his brother the spoon still coated with cake batter. , Kirk hesitated then took the spoon; Sam turned back from their mother and began talking animatedly keeping her busy so she wouldn't notice what he had done. As they talked the subject of what they had done in class that day came up. Sam pulled his crumpled Mother's day card from his pocket and gave it to his mother with a mumbled. "Happy Mother's Day."

Winona took the card and glanced at the bedraggled card, then smiled and said "I love it." She gave her oldest a tight hug, before he wriggled from her grip. Kirk nearly dropped the bowl of cake batter he was scrapping as her remembered his own card. He hurried to his backpack and carefully pulled out his own card.

Shyly he gave it to his mother and whispered "Happy Mother's day."

"Thank you Jimmy." She said formally as she carefully took the square of cardstock. He waited expectantly as she examined the card. Finally she glanced up and said " One of your S's is backwards and you got cake batter which you weren't supposed to be eating on the edge."

Kirk's face fell and he guilty rubbed his sticky hands against his clothes. Winona continued. "There's a marker line across one of the words."Kirk bit his lip and swallowed hard as his mother added. "Your O isn't closed all the way it looks like a U."

His lips were trembling and his eyes were burning but he met his mother's eyes as she finished. "But it looks okay." He didn't miss the tone of her voice or the way she preceded to enfold him in a hug that was so dissimilar to the one she had given Sam. Kirk pulled away from her embrace and stared up at his mother. She brushed his hair back and said softly "You could have done better if you had tried harder Jimmy."

His shoulder's started to shake and he felt tears well in his eyes but he didn't let them fall. "Yes, mom." He choked out. Sam glanced between his mother and his brother. He couldn't understand why she disliked his younger brother so much. But sensing her mood he moved to intervene. He slung an arm around his brother's shoulders and as he steered him from the kitchen he called to his mom. "We'll good put out stuff away and start on chores." Sam walked away rubbing the back of his now crying little brother.

Winona didn't answer; she was staring at the two Mother's Day cards she had placed on the counter. She heard the sound of her youngest weeping, but she didn't go to him. She was transfixed by the cards. One -Sam's -was a pitiful unkempt mess, that really was more fit as garbage than a gift. The haphazard appearance of the card fit her oldest personality. The other card was very well done especially for one so young and the meticulous detail reminded her of someone else. She grabbed a card from the counter and ripped it up slowly then let the pieces fall into the disposal. The other card she placed on the refrigerator. She didn't want the cards they were a poor alternative to the one thing she wanted –the one thing she would always want. But if she couldn't have her George back –then she would not be forced to be reminded of him. She swept the last pieces of her youngest son's card in the disposal and then stared at the untidy piece of paper on her fridge.

Sam's card really was worse, but to her it was better than Jim's because nothing on it reminded her of George…

"It's the children the world almost breaks who grow up to save it."
― Frank Warren

This was a short story written as a Mother's day Present for someone...Feedback is welcome.