The Ungiven Gift

I had looked for ages for the perfect gift for my mom. While she had embraced this new world of technology challenges, it was always easier and more convenient for her to utilize her note taking staple of pen and paper. Many times, I watched her struggle to remember where she had written things down or what she had written them on. My biggest fear was that something important was going to escape her in the madness of her discontiguous paper jungle. So, when I found the Moleskine Cahier Journal, I just knew I had found the mechanism to save her sanity and possibly something greater depending upon the magnitude of whatever it was she had forgotten or written down and misplaced.

Don’t get me wrong, I had spent hours teaching her the nuances of her smartphone and tablet. Yes, she had a tablet and still struggled with using and navigating her devices. At the end of it all, it usually just ended up frustrating she and I both. Finding and ordering that little black notebook was hopefully going to be the God send that saved both our sanity! It was fast approaching her birthday, so the timing of the discovery was both fortuitous and opportune. Her favorite color was purple, but I knew that black would always stand out no matter where she placed it. In all honesty, I think she preferred writing things down just to feel the pen in her hand and enjoyed the sensation of the writing utensil as it slid across the paper. Certainly she was capable of learning the devices, but seemed to give a laissze-faire approach to their comprehension. Plus, she would always write little notes to my deceased father. It seemed to be her way to cope and feel like he was still a part of her life.

When it arrived, I was super excited to give it to her. I had to wait a couple weeks so I knew the suspense was going to kill me. I’ve always been terrible at both giving and receiving surprises. I love watching someone enjoy the fruits of my thoughtfulness and, myself, I have always hated lingering in suspense. It is a multi-faceted feeling, I suppose. My anxiety in giving the surprise was not only about waiting to see their expression, but also the fear that they might not like it. I would rather give the gift immediately and fix it quickly if I had missed the mark with what I felt as though their heart may desire. I wrapped the present and then prepared for the arduousness the next week was going to bring. Wanting so much to give the present but wanting also to wait to make her birthday special. Chances are I will cave before the week is out!

As fate would have it, the next day I got a call that my mother had been in a car accident. I raced as fast as I could to the hospital. Upon my arrival, I was greeted by the doctor who informed me that the accident was much more severe and her injuries more grievous than initially thought. She had passed merely 10 minutes before I could make it to be with her. I was crushed. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I returned to my car and sat there for what seemed to be an eternity. Truly, I was oblivious to how much time had passed. Her wrapped present lay in the passenger seat beside me and I had spent the balance of all that time just sitting and staring at it. My God, why didn’t I go ahead and give it to her? This circumstance was not one that had remotely even entered into my anxiety of keeping the surprise. My thoughts were swirling like snowflakes in a winter vortex. The irony was, I had just gotten moved into my apartment and all my mail and packages were still going to my mom’s house. The notebook had been delivered there. She had handled it and never even knew what it was. Why didn’t I just tell her it was coming and let her go ahead and enjoy it.

She had been helping me with my tuition for college and as selfish as it seemed, that was one of the first things that popped into my mind. With her gone, how was I going to finish school? I only had one more semester left and had about $100 in the bank. And what about funeral expenses? I had no family to speak of nor did she have any life insurance of which I was aware. If she had any, it would be noted in the mess of papers and God knows how long that would take to find. I was completely devastated and lost. As I continued to sit, cry, and think all I could do was think about my failure to give her the gift and what was going to happen now. With no help, I didn’t know where to turn. My mom had been my everything, my helper, my provider, my guide, and my safe space. In those lonely hours I came to the gripping conclusion of how much I relied on her. The damnable irony of it all was if mom were here, she would know exactly what to do. I had started this day with fears and apprehensions that were now relegated into the most insignificant things that have ever even been thought. What good was anything anymore? None of my earlier thoughts or fears had any meaning or bearing and likely never would again.

When I had cried all that I felt a human could cry, I reached over picked up the gift. I held it in my hand and longingly stroked its front. My pain and regret were almost guttural. I could feel them well up from the very deepest part of my core and permeate every fiber of my body and every inch of my soul. I decided then to open it myself. I angrily ripped the paper off as if I were a person enraged by the very existence of gift wrap. As though the mere idea of it being a “thing” went completely through me and elicited a road rage like response to its touch. Once I had properly punished the wrappings, I stared at the notebook in its container. I instantly tried to see it through the eyes of my mother and in my success, I found what was, to this point, the greatest heartache yet experienced. I sobbed so deeply and wildly that I scarcely thought I would be able to breathe enough to sustain my own life. Even in my state, I still noticed something. The packing material that held the notebook in place was disturbed. I had not even noticed this when I was wrapping it.

Upon closer examination, it looked as though the container holding the notebook had been torn and taped back. Curiosity might well have been the only emotion that could have assuaged the deep sadness I was wallowing it. Not a stronger emotion, mind you, but curiosity peaks nerve centers that require the resources given to any prior emotion that was already in play. I tore away the container and gazed upon the black Moleskine Cahier Journal in my hand. It was absolutely exquisite; my mother would have loved this so very much. With a small smirk on my face, I peeled back the cover of the notebook to reveal the first page. What I saw stole my breath and caused my heart to stop for what seemed to be an eternity. What a wild ride of emotions. Just minutes before I thought grief would take me, now surprise and disbelief seemed to be what would ferry me to my mother’s side. It felt like 30 minutes passed before I took another breath. I just sat in awe, shivering and shaking at what sat before me, held in my hands.

On the very first page it read:

“My love, our child doesn’t know I found the present when it came in the mail. Yes, it might have been a little devious of me to look at it early, but curiosity got the better of me. I absolutely LOVE it. This is the finest notebook I have ever owned. The thoughtfulness behind it fills me with more love than I can even convey. I’ll write more soon!”

And right underneath that writing, was a note. Apparently, mom had made a phone call before she snuck her present back in its package. The line read:

Life Insurance Policy # 987A-4458, $20,000

My mom’s very first act with her new notebook was to ensure that I was taken care of in the event something happened to her. Fighting back tears, I reached into the console of my car and took out a pen. Underneath her writing, I added the following:

“Mom, I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you loved the notebook. I was so worried about whether or not you’d like it. I want to thank you with all that I am for everything you have ever done for me. You found a way to always be there, even when you’re gone. I love you so much. I’ll write more soon!”

Best gift I have ever bought. And likely best that I ever will.