It was a busy weekday morning as I rushed about getting ready to drive my kids to school. I was running from room to room as I scrambled to get myself ready and collect all the things we needed to take with us. I nearly tripped over my own feet as I stopped abruptly at my jewelry box. One thing that I do each day for myself is to wear at least one piece of my jewelry. That way, no matter how my day goes, I am always wearing something pretty. As I quickly looked over the rings, bracelets, necklaces and earrings, my eye was drawn to something bright in the bottom of the drawer.
I reached out my hand and picked up a long strand of beads. My fingers brushed gently over the smooth beads, and one by one, I admired the colors. I imagined the time it took to choose each one and marveled at the detail used in carefully stringing them together. This was not a piece of jewelry made up of expensive stones. The chain was not gold. This was my first homemade Mother’s Day gift from my son, the year he was three.
Everything on the necklace was plastic. The length was long, almost to my stomach. It contained all the things he thought I would love like butterflies and flowers beads. Some beads were bright and some had sparkles. In the very center, there was a pink foam heart and a picture of my son was glued to it. I can still remember the twinkle in his eyes and pride in his little face the day that I picked him up from preschool and he raced to me with his carefully wrapped present. I could picture his tiny hands as he used great care to place each bead just where he wanted it. As I opened it, I cried along with the other Moms that were also receiving their special gifts.
I am fortunate that my husband is really good at picking out gifts for me. I have received sentimental pieces of jewelry, coffee mugs, picture frames and a platter all personalized with my children's hand prints or pictures, and the most thoughtful and time-consuming gift to make, a Mother's Day photo book. He manages to always find the perfect thing and I always love my Mother’s Day gifts. (Not counting the year that he gave me a stress management book which I normally may have really liked if I wasn’t pregnant and completely hormonal.) But this was the year that even he could not top the necklace that my son made for me in school. To me, that gift represented his appreciation and love for me, as well as the painful awareness that he was growing older and gaining his independence. That necklace was a symbol of holding on and letting go.
That day I spent longer than I should have picking out a piece of jewelry. As we walked out to the car, my son, now seven, flashed a bashful smile when he saw me wearing his gift. He didn’t say a word about it but hugged me a little longer than usual when I dropped him off at school.
That was the year that I was not given an expensive gift, but rather the most precious one.