We gathered around as he looked at his detailed gift list on a pink ledger pad. The presents are strewn around his feet as he starts to go down the list of gifts. He tells everyone there is a card at the bottom of each bag and that we would open them all together at the end. I got to go first. I opened the black bag stuffed with crinkled black tissue paper with gold polka dots, and the linger of cigar smoke, the first gift, one of mom's favorite pieces, a Nellie Wortman junk journal. Mom was so good at keeping everything and putting it into a journal. She wasted nothing. This journal was small but mighty. Little trinkets stuck in between other trinkets, safely secured with buttons, glue, love notes, and old tattered fabric. The next gift, a leather folded pen case to carry my favorite brushes or markers. He knows that creating is my heartbeat. It was hers too. Next a bowl, not just any bowl, but one I thought my great grandfather had thrown on the pottery wheel. To my surprise, my great grandmother, Lyda, had made it! I know it was one of my dad's favorites; his fondest childhood memories were at his grandparents' house. I used to throw pottery with my great-grandpa in his garage.
He made me a potter's wheel and taught me how to make small jars and vases, such a sweet distant memory. I know that bowl meant a lot to my dad, and I'm grateful to have it; it will be perfect for serving around the table. His memories are fading, but the ones that came from his grandparent's house are precious and dear to him. I went to the bottom of the bag and held onto the wrapped card at the bottom. We continued around the room as my brothers, nieces, and nephews opened their precious thoughtful gifts. Gifts gathered from around their house, a trophy from mom's nightstand, Santa's from her collection, silver dollars she had collected, her dad's old pen. A tin necklace she had painted over 30 years ago, and a beautiful Spode dish from her piles of glorious dishes.
My heart wept as I thought about my dad gathering these precious gifts for us. It was one of the kindest, most thoughtful things he has done—what a sweet memory in a season of surviving. She was watching; she was so proud. I miss you so much; you are in the details. God is in the details. Y'all make a powerful team, and that will keep us going. That will keep us putting our feet on the ground, knowing that one day, we will meet again. Oh, what a gift that will be, to be in your arms again. Merry Christmas, mom.