Every November around Thanksgiving time I pull out my old stand by articles and reread the words, all with the intention of following the directions to slow down and stay focused on “just the important things”. I like taking the time to reconnect with what I know works and I look forward to rereading the messages while cuddled up on the couch, which is in itself a scene setter. I like the holidays and I’m lucky that I have a family that understands the true meaning of gift giving and so I no longer have obligations that force me to stand in long lines for the best buys. The following is something I wrote about my mom in 2006 that continues to be a guiding light for me and for all of us in my family. As I reread this recap, I only wish you could have met her. She was an amazing woman, so true to herself and kind to everyone. She died in August of 2008, just before Zoe’s wedding, and although she’s gone, she continues to be my family’s most precious gift as you’ll see by the story. It is with sincere gratitude and love that I wish you all Happy Holidays. Thanks for all you do for me and our NSW community. Roleen
She’s our Gift
Three Christmases ago, everything changed in my family and what once was a joyful holiday became one of fighting and confrontations and a whole lot of bad feelings. If it weren’t for my mom, I don’t think we could have rallied through the day and the long ride home was spent on trying to figure out how we were going to save the family. My mom turned 90 years old this year and she is filled with 90 years of wisdom and I was confident that with her as our guiding light, my sister, Nancy, and I would come up with some ideas for us to come away from this experience with a positive outcome. After some negotiating, it was decided that at our Easter gathering at my house, we would exchange names for Christmas and instead of buying gifts, we would take the months ahead to find out as much as we could about the person whose name we had drawn and present the information and a little “something” that was symbolic to the group. It was a new concept for us. We agreed we had become trapped into the monotony of buying meaningless gifts in order to check the names off the list (though I always thought my gifts to be pretty clever!) For me, the exercise forced me to see that I had lost touch with who my nieces and nephews had become as they entered their adult years. I was still their Auntie Ro but they had so much more to offer me than I took time to know.
That first Christmas back together was still a little stiff. Afterall, we were creating a new tradition out of necessity and we were feeling unsure of what was expected of us. One by one we presented our “gifts” to each other and the laughter and love that we had once taken for granted slowly began to refill the room. We were not ready, however, for my mother’s gift to all of us.
Earlier, I had noticed that when Jim and I had picked her up that Christmas morning, she had more than her allotted amount of bags. When I reminded her that she wasn’t supposed to buy gifts for everyone, she brushed me off. “It’s a surprise”, she said. One by one we gathered around as “Grammy” pulled out plain unwrapped plastic boxes each with a bow taped to the top. She called our names and as we reached for our “surprise” she instructed that we should all wait until each had received our package. On cue, we lifted up the tops of the plastic boxes. The room was almost silent as our eyes focused on the present inside. And what a gift! There were years and years of memorabilia complete with poems, drawings, letters of birthday greetings, letters with “I love you” written everywhere and even letters of apologies all done in our own hand. There were photos that had us laughing and photos that had us crying. She was gifting us with our own childhood memories and it was a magical! In a moment, we were connected in a way so much more powerful than a gift from Macy’s. . . and the healing began.
Just when we thought there was no topping this surprise, last year “Grammy” blew us out of the water when she pulled out three shopping bags filled with letters. With all of us gathered for this new surprise, my nephew opened the first envelope. As he began to read the handwritten words that began with “My dearest Rose”, he stopped and looked at all of us. Could my mom be sharing the love letters my dad had sent her while he was serving in WWII? Real love letters filled with the sweetest words and feelings of hope and desire and passion! My dad died just before I started NSW and for the first time in a long time, I felt close to him again. I felt closer to all of my family, for that matter!.
How simple it was. Unwrapped plastic containers of personal memories and three brown shopping bags with handwritten notes of love. . . no expensive gifts, no credit card bills and no long lines in the “returns here” department. My 90 year old mother, still so full of wisdom, single handedly brought back meaning to our family’s holiday. I’m thinking. . .she’s our gift.