The Wax Remembers: A Mother’s Quiet Legacy
He didn’t just bring me roses. He brought back every moment I poured when no one saw me.
The nights I stayed up working. The mornings I braided courage into routine. The years I gave without being asked, because that’s what mothers do. And the wax—always the wax—it held me when I needed to hold it together.
This is a story for the women who chose to stay. Who chose stillness instead of speed. Who chose to light candles when no one was watching, hoping the scent might carry a prayer further than their voice could reach. Because that’s what pouring is. It’s legacy in motion. It’s faith with a flame.
Seventeen years ago, I moved from St. Louis to Dallas with just one suitcase and a son. I didn’t know it then, but I was building something sacred. Now he’s a professional basketball player, and yesterday—on Mother’s Day—he handed me roses. But I saw more than flowers. I saw the evidence. The answer. The memory made whole.
He brought them back.
The wax remembers. And so do I.
grice wax & wicks
a slow burn. a lasting impression.
