The Magic We Find in Unexpected Places

When a loved one is living with dementia, moments of connection can feel rare and fleeting. Yet sometimes, the universe delivers reminders of their love in the most unexpected ways. This is the story of how a simple search for Easter decorations led me to a discovery that felt like my mom’s voice reaching across time—a reminder that even as memory fades and loved ones pass, their love remains.

Not long ago, while poking around in my mom’s basement, I stumbled across a big green storage bin tucked away in the corner. At first, I thought I might finally find the stash of pastel Easter bunnies and plastic eggs I was sure she had hidden somewhere. Instead, what I found was far more meaningful: a box overflowing with old photographs and keepsakes from my childhood.

As I sifted through the photos, my eyes landed on something I had never seen before—an old-fashioned baby book. I assumed it belonged to my brother or sister, but when I opened it, I was met with a kind of magic: it was mine. Inside were my hospital bracelets, the bow from my newborn photo, my birth announcement clipped from the newspaper, and even my original birth certificate I thought was long lost.

But the real treasure was my mom’s handwriting on every page. She had written the sweetest notes about me as a baby and toddler—what I liked, what made me laugh, the little quirks that made me me. According to her, I was a very happy baby who loved my bottle, squealed a lot at five months, and—much to my embarrassment now—was utterly obsessed with McDonald’s cheeseburgers. (She wasn’t wrong. I even had cheeseburger button covers. Sadly, that’s true.)

Then I turned the page and found the note that made me cry right there on the basement floor:

“At 3 years old you tripped and knocked out your two front teeth. A retainer is placed in. You’re still beautiful.”

Those three words—you’re still beautiful—hit me like a wave. They held all the love, compassion, and reassurance that only a mother can give.

When dementia slowly quieted my mom’s voice, I longed to hear those words again. Whether it was “I love you,” “You’re beautiful,” or even “Go get me water”—I would have cherished anything. That day, I felt as though she was speaking directly to me again, through the notes she had written decades earlier.

Now that she has passed, those little messages have become even more precious. They remind me that love endures—even as memory fades, even as life changes, even after someone is gone.

I’ve come to believe I wasn’t meant to find Easter decorations that day. I was meant to find her. And in those pages, I did.

There is magic all around us—you just have to look a little closer. Sometimes it’s tucked away in a basement box, waiting for the exact moment you need it most.

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