I grew up in a household filled with deep sadness following my brother’s passing at age 10, followed by vociferous anger . . . and fear. That was a very long time ago. An older cousin only recently told me he was afraid for me. That hit home in spite of the time that has passed.
In the midst of the sadness and the anger and following one of many especially loud arguments between parents unable to hold each other in their grief, my mother gave me a stuffed kitten with very soft white fur. She sat me down with tears in her eyes, and exposing so much of her own fragility, told me it should have been the Easter bunny leaving the gift the next morning but, instead, wanted that it be from her so that I really knew she loved me. And she did, and I know that and, although the foundation beneath my feet was never solid in my childhood home, there was a foundation which I hopefully have laid beneath the feet of my own children, now young adults making their way.
For our 25th anniversary, my wife had saved every letter, note, written message I had ever sent to her and put it together in a beautiful, professionally made book. She worked with a graphic designer to make the book aesthetically interesting and inventive. She made extra copies for our three children.
It is a record of our marriage up to that point and I told her when she gave it ti me, "You win," as in this gift will always have the most spectacular meaning of any other gift either one of us could ever give.
The timespan was 1985 to 2010, so many of the letters were handwritten, on cards, and various hotel stationaries when I used to travel for business. Now my letters tend to be word documents, which make for less of an interesting mix of media. Example of something lost to technological efficiency.
She titled the book "Remembrance of Things Past," because I love Proust.
12 years until our 50th, so I think I have to accelerate the writing!
Suleika, the twists and turns of your story had me "waiting" around every corner, wondering what would be next. Fabulous! Beth, The Humpties had me crying. Lovely. Both stories were tales of the simple, stories that would be lost if no one wrote them. I treasure the simple. My dad (who turned 92 July 5) long ago, gave me a pair of his Fatigues (olive green Army pants) from his time during the Vietnam war. He gave them to me at a time when my life was falling apart. I put them on when I need strength. He had lost so much weight while over there, that they fit me and still do. Now, as he is so much older, I am afraid to wear them. I don't want him to "go" and I don't want the pants to give way and "go."
Jul 9, 2023·edited Jul 9, 2023Liked by Suleika Jaouad, Carmen Radley
Your post has me sitting here with tears literally streaming down my face. And yet that doesn't even touch the emotion I feel hitting me like a tsunami. I am already feeling so deeply tender about life, heading to a birthday with a large number, watching my 23 year old daughter do things I never would have done at her age -- fully and passionately living her life. I, too, am holding many contradictory things in my heart at the same time and it is so difficult to articulate it. Deep deep love sitting right next to sorrow, a feeling of loss. THIS is life, though. THIS is living. Being able to recognize those paradoxes, to truly feel them both. This is as human as it gets. Huge wells of love and loss are familiar to me -- at 12 when my dad died, a daddy's girl as I was, such bottomless, searing loss overlapping with the equally bottomless love which has only grown over the decades. This is my human condition. It IS the human condition. How utterly beautiful when one can recognize contradictions, feel them to the most inner part of you. So, to you, to the very human beautiful you are, Suleika, I raise a toast to you and say l'chaim. Much love to you. -- susan
My friend Amy knew dragon flies were my lucky charm, so for two different birthdays she gave me a dragonfly necklace and the following year a stained glass dragonfly which is hanging in my living room window which receives lots of light. Right after she gave me the stained glass dragonfly I was in Whole Foods at Columbus Circle, eating breakfast and I look up and there is a live, single dragon fly on the ceiling. I just knew it was watching over me , and I knew Amy was also. Amy had died not too long after she gave me the stained glass dragonfly. When I was a little girl I used to call them shiny, flying needles, and I always thought they were beautiful. Now when I see them I feel they are one of my protectors and that Amy is watching over me. “I love you dragonflies and I love you Amy.”
Jul 9, 2023·edited Jul 9, 2023Liked by Suleika Jaouad, Carmen Radley
(TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSES SUICIDE). My mother and I had a complicated relationship, and I've always believed it was because I looked and acted most like my father. Their relationship was even more complicated. My mother was in the throes of grief due to the suicide of her younger brother when I was a baby, and I think that effected our bonding time. By the time my younger sister came along, she felt better and my sister got a lot of love. My mom wasn't demonstrative, and I have no memory of a hug or an "I love you." At birthdays you got one of those tall, rectangular "funny" cards...she was not one for sentiment. Gifts were what you specifically asked for or something very disappointing (one year for Christmas I got a slip). But one year, out of the blue, she gave me a small china trinket dish with a very sentimental saying on it about daughters. I treasured that then and I still do today. She died of cancer when I was only 34, but as I've grown older I've come to understand what made my mother...my mother. She actually got a lot of the worst life has to offer but she actually deserved the best...sweet...shy...studious...kind. But life happened.She lost her father to drowning with his (as the newspaper put it..."very attractive secretary" in the Russian River when she was in high school. Then she married and gave up her dream of becoming a teacher in South America. My dad was in a fire during the first years of their marriage and almost lost his leg. His constant pain left him self medicating on Percodan and Vodka. She lost her brother to suicide, and later, lost my older brother to suicide and then my dad to suicide. Still she persevered. She got a job...her first since her teens, and tried her best to be a good grandmother...but alas...she got very sick and died when she was 56. I say all that to say that I desperately love and miss her. My belief system tells me we will be reunited one day (I'm 72 so maybe not that far in the distance!). And I'll never forget her attempt to tell me how she felt about me with that one precious china dish.
The gift came a few months after my son died (2006). As an early elementary school teacher, I was sitting on the floor of my classroom cleaning out a closet when a hummingbird flew in through a propped-open door and landed at my feet. I picked it up! Bird stood in my palm. It looked at me, blinked, and moved its head side-to-side. When I saw a rogue feather sticking up on the top of its head, I thought of my son. Life-loving mischievousness. I expected the bird to dart off, but it stayed. I spontaneously cried proclaiming love for this precious bird, saying things like “I've been waiting for you” and “How can this be?” Hummingbird woke me up to the brief and potent energetic presence of all beings. But the bird was one part of the gift. The other part came later. It was a transformative lesson in letting go. For so long, I held onto objects from the 28 life-on-earth years with my son. Eventually, reflection on this hummingbird visit helped me let go of memorabilia from my son's past. I held each thing and set it down. Through the process, I felt peace. Then I let everything go, except for a few pieces. I heard Pema Chödrön tell a story of how she let go of her deceased mother's necklace by trading it hand-to-hand, aware that each passing was a letting go practice that makes space for the present. Eventually, the object is passed from one hand out in a final letting go. What remains is a timeless connection. Love. Like the hummingbird visit here and then gone.
Happy birth and this day, Sulieka! Thank you, Beth, for this beautiful prompt. Thank you everyone for your shared gifts.
I don’t remember exactly when it started, but my friend Kim began celebrating Hanukkah with me for me, knowing it was meaningful to me. Without fail, every Hanukkah a package would arrive, and she in Seattle, and I, wherever I was, would sip tea, drink coffee, and eat some thing delightful from a treasured baker. The baked goods that she would send was always accompanied by some thoughtful treasure she had found, and thought I would enjoy. Kim send gifts and packages every year until she unexpectedly died in her sleep. Every Hanukkah since I look for those packages.
I left home very young at about 12 years-old. What I found is that without making me feel guilty or uncomfortable doors opened. I spent time at Dale's house whose parents owned a grocery store and got home late.. Carol Greene's whose parents gave me a sweet sixteen party, Dee B whose Dad was a cartoonist for the old Journal American. As an adult, My door has been open and I hope that I have given comfort to those that stayed for a while. I am do grateful.
I LOVE your birthday celebration story! Bravo to your Mom and all of your creative family members for successfully honoring you! The “luckiest unlucky” person indeed!
What a spectacular happy birthday, Suleika! And I love the simple Humpty story! When I was a baby I was gifted a sweet little Eeyore. He was soft and squishy but also had a wind up feature that played a sweet nursery rhyme as his head moved around. I don't know where this sweet Eeyore ended up so my mother sent me a large lap-size Eeyore years later, big as a toddler and so huggable. My daughters had tea parties with him and fought over who got to keep him in their rooms at night. Now this same Eeyore sweetly adorns my little granddaughters room, with his big sad eyes and bow on his tail still intact. Its these sweet details in life that make it oh so wonderful. I love to celebrate a birthday and always made doll cakes for my daughters. On Anjelica's 30th bday Dec 27, 2021, she was in the hospital, unable to walk, rendering her ineligible for a bone marrow transplant. MSK and her team genously allowed her to stay in her big corner room on the 8th floor (she was later moved to the 7th floor). Everyone turned a blind eye as her sisters and the nursing staff decorated her room with a Mardi Gras theme while I walked her around the hospital in a wheelchair. I brought in a homemade doll cake (made in my hotel room down the street), complete with a Barbie adorned with pasties, beads, a joint and raising her glass of champagne. A grown up doll cake. All the staff gathered in her room to surprise her despite the covid restrictions at that time. Anjelica was thrilled and surprised. It was the best little birthday gathering and I am grateful every day to that hospital and their willingness to make her day so special.
My Dad, a former English teacher, was a collector of books- almost a 1,000. Not surprising, there were many writings of Shakespeare and volumes of poetry. My mother would be annoyed at the dust frequently collected on the shelves. Secretly, he wrote me that he hoped that one day when he was gone that I would take good care of the books and please don't dump them. My parents died within 7 months of one another. The books were boxed up and shipped from their lovely Connecticut home to mine in Texas. I had shelves built and lovingly took out each book and indexed them before shelving. The room is now my personal library/ law office. Somedays, just sitting there I am brought to tears - bittersweet ones knowing that I am honoring his wishes. What a gift he left me.
Both stories made me cry - love birthdays! and I do share Suleika’s! 34 x 2!
My parents were refugees so there wasn’t money for birthday celebrations and since mine is July 5 - it was just tagged on to whatever was going on for July 4. Then I married someone with the same birthday...Lessening the importance of it being “my” day. So I make sure to get myself something special for myself - still have to pick out something special for this year! (Maybe I will get those shoes...)
One of my favorite gifts was given to me by a dear girlfriend and her sister when I helped them navigate the complicated health care / home care world for a broken hip. It’s a beautiful silver cuff with the Tetons mountain range carved in it (one of my favorite places). I wear it daily as my power bracelet. Wearing that and listening to Between Two Kingdoms while undergoing radiation treatment for breast cancer, powered me through! Thanks for the gift of connections and stories.
The most meaningful gift ever given to me was a box of donated items from a group of strangers. I was living in Alberta, Canada, at the time, and there was an epic flood which destroyed my home and many others.
A few days after the flood, when our heads were still reeling and we were trying to figure out where to live, what to do with our stuff and the dogs and our 4-year old son who had just finished a brutal course of treatment for kidney disease, I got a call from a town official saying that there our gift box was ready to be picked up. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I went into town to pick it up.
At the town hall was a row of hampers, each designated for a family affected by the flood. In the hamper were all sorts of things I didn't really need. Shampoo. A bottle of wine. Some gourmet popcorn. A certificate for a new outfit at a clothing store in town. A gift card for a massage. A blanket. Toothpaste.
As I put the hamper in to my car, I burst into tears. The kindness tripped me up. The kindness, and my being the receiver of it.
You see, up until then, I was always the person making the boxes. I was the first person to help someone else. Small kindnesses were my thing. But now, after going through the humbling experience of having a sick child, followed by losing a house in a flood, I was exhausted and raw and so I just took it. I took the gift basket. I took the kindness. I let it be for me.
I didn't NEED any of the things in the hamper. But what I did need was to let myself be helped. And that was the greatest gift of all and one I have carried with me since that day almost ten years ago. Now, I let myself be helped. Sometimes, I even ask for it!
( and btw I used every single thing in that gift basket!)
Write about a gift that you received that in some way defined your relationship with another. Where is that gift now (or where did it go)? What does it tell you about who you have become?
Wow! Suleika, your story took my breath away! It makes me so very happy to witness (albeit vicariously) the love for you through the actions and presence of your relatives. Happy Birthday (you said it is your 34th – hey?). The strength of your story gives me hope and assurance - it feels good. (So how did Jon get that piano up there?).
A gift that I received that defined my relationship with another…
In a previous prompt, Prompt 202, I wrote about a period in my life that allowed me to recognize I had worth. That I was valued. That I was acknowledged. Now, from the perspective of Prompt 251, I see that my fifth-grade teacher’s attention was a gift that changed the way I felt about myself for the rest of my life. She turned on the light showing me that I mattered. Clearly (to me), this awareness defined my relationships with everyone from that point forward by strengthening my compassion for those suffering and intensifying my sensitivity to injustice. Consequently, my focus in life was/is serving others. I think she was an angel incarnate.
Mrs. Petersen, your love made a huge difference in my life.
Yesterday was a gift I’ll long remember. One of those days when the wind barrels into the inland valleys from the San Francisco Bay, bringing fog in the morning and a delightful combination of warm sun/cool breeze all day.
My husband, as patient as he’s been with the aftermath of my illness, and my often stubborn desire to just stay home where I’m safe, has been showing signs of longing lately to go out and fulfill his deep curiosity for what’s out there in the world.
So I planned an afternoon for us in a small town nearby, one with a lovely, tree-lined street, lots of shops and restaurants, surrounded by oak covered hills and fine houses.
I picked a restaurant where we could sit outside, safe from the boogeyman germs emanating from the breath of my fellow humans. It was perfect sitting there with the warm sun on my back and the cool breeze tickling my face, sharing a small lunch and a beer with Dave.
There is a lake outside this town, a reservoir tucked up in the hills with a paved trail that circles it. So we did something we haven’t done in a while and took a hike. It’s 2.7 miles, a distance that would have been easy back before I got sick, back in the days when hiking was our favorite thing. I’ve been trying to walk more but this was a lot, and I had to just make up my mind I could do it.
We hiked the whole thing, Dave and I, chatting the entire time. For me there is nothing better than a walk with someone you love, the way it leads to long and deep conversations. It reminds me that in spite of the traumas my mind and body have endured, the me I was before still exists. I can’t think of a better gift than that.
I grew up in a household filled with deep sadness following my brother’s passing at age 10, followed by vociferous anger . . . and fear. That was a very long time ago. An older cousin only recently told me he was afraid for me. That hit home in spite of the time that has passed.
In the midst of the sadness and the anger and following one of many especially loud arguments between parents unable to hold each other in their grief, my mother gave me a stuffed kitten with very soft white fur. She sat me down with tears in her eyes, and exposing so much of her own fragility, told me it should have been the Easter bunny leaving the gift the next morning but, instead, wanted that it be from her so that I really knew she loved me. And she did, and I know that and, although the foundation beneath my feet was never solid in my childhood home, there was a foundation which I hopefully have laid beneath the feet of my own children, now young adults making their way.
For our 25th anniversary, my wife had saved every letter, note, written message I had ever sent to her and put it together in a beautiful, professionally made book. She worked with a graphic designer to make the book aesthetically interesting and inventive. She made extra copies for our three children.
It is a record of our marriage up to that point and I told her when she gave it ti me, "You win," as in this gift will always have the most spectacular meaning of any other gift either one of us could ever give.
The timespan was 1985 to 2010, so many of the letters were handwritten, on cards, and various hotel stationaries when I used to travel for business. Now my letters tend to be word documents, which make for less of an interesting mix of media. Example of something lost to technological efficiency.
She titled the book "Remembrance of Things Past," because I love Proust.
12 years until our 50th, so I think I have to accelerate the writing!
Suleika, the twists and turns of your story had me "waiting" around every corner, wondering what would be next. Fabulous! Beth, The Humpties had me crying. Lovely. Both stories were tales of the simple, stories that would be lost if no one wrote them. I treasure the simple. My dad (who turned 92 July 5) long ago, gave me a pair of his Fatigues (olive green Army pants) from his time during the Vietnam war. He gave them to me at a time when my life was falling apart. I put them on when I need strength. He had lost so much weight while over there, that they fit me and still do. Now, as he is so much older, I am afraid to wear them. I don't want him to "go" and I don't want the pants to give way and "go."
Your post has me sitting here with tears literally streaming down my face. And yet that doesn't even touch the emotion I feel hitting me like a tsunami. I am already feeling so deeply tender about life, heading to a birthday with a large number, watching my 23 year old daughter do things I never would have done at her age -- fully and passionately living her life. I, too, am holding many contradictory things in my heart at the same time and it is so difficult to articulate it. Deep deep love sitting right next to sorrow, a feeling of loss. THIS is life, though. THIS is living. Being able to recognize those paradoxes, to truly feel them both. This is as human as it gets. Huge wells of love and loss are familiar to me -- at 12 when my dad died, a daddy's girl as I was, such bottomless, searing loss overlapping with the equally bottomless love which has only grown over the decades. This is my human condition. It IS the human condition. How utterly beautiful when one can recognize contradictions, feel them to the most inner part of you. So, to you, to the very human beautiful you are, Suleika, I raise a toast to you and say l'chaim. Much love to you. -- susan
My friend Amy knew dragon flies were my lucky charm, so for two different birthdays she gave me a dragonfly necklace and the following year a stained glass dragonfly which is hanging in my living room window which receives lots of light. Right after she gave me the stained glass dragonfly I was in Whole Foods at Columbus Circle, eating breakfast and I look up and there is a live, single dragon fly on the ceiling. I just knew it was watching over me , and I knew Amy was also. Amy had died not too long after she gave me the stained glass dragonfly. When I was a little girl I used to call them shiny, flying needles, and I always thought they were beautiful. Now when I see them I feel they are one of my protectors and that Amy is watching over me. “I love you dragonflies and I love you Amy.”
(TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSES SUICIDE). My mother and I had a complicated relationship, and I've always believed it was because I looked and acted most like my father. Their relationship was even more complicated. My mother was in the throes of grief due to the suicide of her younger brother when I was a baby, and I think that effected our bonding time. By the time my younger sister came along, she felt better and my sister got a lot of love. My mom wasn't demonstrative, and I have no memory of a hug or an "I love you." At birthdays you got one of those tall, rectangular "funny" cards...she was not one for sentiment. Gifts were what you specifically asked for or something very disappointing (one year for Christmas I got a slip). But one year, out of the blue, she gave me a small china trinket dish with a very sentimental saying on it about daughters. I treasured that then and I still do today. She died of cancer when I was only 34, but as I've grown older I've come to understand what made my mother...my mother. She actually got a lot of the worst life has to offer but she actually deserved the best...sweet...shy...studious...kind. But life happened.She lost her father to drowning with his (as the newspaper put it..."very attractive secretary" in the Russian River when she was in high school. Then she married and gave up her dream of becoming a teacher in South America. My dad was in a fire during the first years of their marriage and almost lost his leg. His constant pain left him self medicating on Percodan and Vodka. She lost her brother to suicide, and later, lost my older brother to suicide and then my dad to suicide. Still she persevered. She got a job...her first since her teens, and tried her best to be a good grandmother...but alas...she got very sick and died when she was 56. I say all that to say that I desperately love and miss her. My belief system tells me we will be reunited one day (I'm 72 so maybe not that far in the distance!). And I'll never forget her attempt to tell me how she felt about me with that one precious china dish.
The gift came a few months after my son died (2006). As an early elementary school teacher, I was sitting on the floor of my classroom cleaning out a closet when a hummingbird flew in through a propped-open door and landed at my feet. I picked it up! Bird stood in my palm. It looked at me, blinked, and moved its head side-to-side. When I saw a rogue feather sticking up on the top of its head, I thought of my son. Life-loving mischievousness. I expected the bird to dart off, but it stayed. I spontaneously cried proclaiming love for this precious bird, saying things like “I've been waiting for you” and “How can this be?” Hummingbird woke me up to the brief and potent energetic presence of all beings. But the bird was one part of the gift. The other part came later. It was a transformative lesson in letting go. For so long, I held onto objects from the 28 life-on-earth years with my son. Eventually, reflection on this hummingbird visit helped me let go of memorabilia from my son's past. I held each thing and set it down. Through the process, I felt peace. Then I let everything go, except for a few pieces. I heard Pema Chödrön tell a story of how she let go of her deceased mother's necklace by trading it hand-to-hand, aware that each passing was a letting go practice that makes space for the present. Eventually, the object is passed from one hand out in a final letting go. What remains is a timeless connection. Love. Like the hummingbird visit here and then gone.
Happy birth and this day, Sulieka! Thank you, Beth, for this beautiful prompt. Thank you everyone for your shared gifts.
I don’t remember exactly when it started, but my friend Kim began celebrating Hanukkah with me for me, knowing it was meaningful to me. Without fail, every Hanukkah a package would arrive, and she in Seattle, and I, wherever I was, would sip tea, drink coffee, and eat some thing delightful from a treasured baker. The baked goods that she would send was always accompanied by some thoughtful treasure she had found, and thought I would enjoy. Kim send gifts and packages every year until she unexpectedly died in her sleep. Every Hanukkah since I look for those packages.
I left home very young at about 12 years-old. What I found is that without making me feel guilty or uncomfortable doors opened. I spent time at Dale's house whose parents owned a grocery store and got home late.. Carol Greene's whose parents gave me a sweet sixteen party, Dee B whose Dad was a cartoonist for the old Journal American. As an adult, My door has been open and I hope that I have given comfort to those that stayed for a while. I am do grateful.
I LOVE your birthday celebration story! Bravo to your Mom and all of your creative family members for successfully honoring you! The “luckiest unlucky” person indeed!
What a spectacular happy birthday, Suleika! And I love the simple Humpty story! When I was a baby I was gifted a sweet little Eeyore. He was soft and squishy but also had a wind up feature that played a sweet nursery rhyme as his head moved around. I don't know where this sweet Eeyore ended up so my mother sent me a large lap-size Eeyore years later, big as a toddler and so huggable. My daughters had tea parties with him and fought over who got to keep him in their rooms at night. Now this same Eeyore sweetly adorns my little granddaughters room, with his big sad eyes and bow on his tail still intact. Its these sweet details in life that make it oh so wonderful. I love to celebrate a birthday and always made doll cakes for my daughters. On Anjelica's 30th bday Dec 27, 2021, she was in the hospital, unable to walk, rendering her ineligible for a bone marrow transplant. MSK and her team genously allowed her to stay in her big corner room on the 8th floor (she was later moved to the 7th floor). Everyone turned a blind eye as her sisters and the nursing staff decorated her room with a Mardi Gras theme while I walked her around the hospital in a wheelchair. I brought in a homemade doll cake (made in my hotel room down the street), complete with a Barbie adorned with pasties, beads, a joint and raising her glass of champagne. A grown up doll cake. All the staff gathered in her room to surprise her despite the covid restrictions at that time. Anjelica was thrilled and surprised. It was the best little birthday gathering and I am grateful every day to that hospital and their willingness to make her day so special.
My Dad, a former English teacher, was a collector of books- almost a 1,000. Not surprising, there were many writings of Shakespeare and volumes of poetry. My mother would be annoyed at the dust frequently collected on the shelves. Secretly, he wrote me that he hoped that one day when he was gone that I would take good care of the books and please don't dump them. My parents died within 7 months of one another. The books were boxed up and shipped from their lovely Connecticut home to mine in Texas. I had shelves built and lovingly took out each book and indexed them before shelving. The room is now my personal library/ law office. Somedays, just sitting there I am brought to tears - bittersweet ones knowing that I am honoring his wishes. What a gift he left me.
Both stories made me cry - love birthdays! and I do share Suleika’s! 34 x 2!
My parents were refugees so there wasn’t money for birthday celebrations and since mine is July 5 - it was just tagged on to whatever was going on for July 4. Then I married someone with the same birthday...Lessening the importance of it being “my” day. So I make sure to get myself something special for myself - still have to pick out something special for this year! (Maybe I will get those shoes...)
One of my favorite gifts was given to me by a dear girlfriend and her sister when I helped them navigate the complicated health care / home care world for a broken hip. It’s a beautiful silver cuff with the Tetons mountain range carved in it (one of my favorite places). I wear it daily as my power bracelet. Wearing that and listening to Between Two Kingdoms while undergoing radiation treatment for breast cancer, powered me through! Thanks for the gift of connections and stories.
The most meaningful gift ever given to me was a box of donated items from a group of strangers. I was living in Alberta, Canada, at the time, and there was an epic flood which destroyed my home and many others.
A few days after the flood, when our heads were still reeling and we were trying to figure out where to live, what to do with our stuff and the dogs and our 4-year old son who had just finished a brutal course of treatment for kidney disease, I got a call from a town official saying that there our gift box was ready to be picked up. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I went into town to pick it up.
At the town hall was a row of hampers, each designated for a family affected by the flood. In the hamper were all sorts of things I didn't really need. Shampoo. A bottle of wine. Some gourmet popcorn. A certificate for a new outfit at a clothing store in town. A gift card for a massage. A blanket. Toothpaste.
As I put the hamper in to my car, I burst into tears. The kindness tripped me up. The kindness, and my being the receiver of it.
You see, up until then, I was always the person making the boxes. I was the first person to help someone else. Small kindnesses were my thing. But now, after going through the humbling experience of having a sick child, followed by losing a house in a flood, I was exhausted and raw and so I just took it. I took the gift basket. I took the kindness. I let it be for me.
I didn't NEED any of the things in the hamper. But what I did need was to let myself be helped. And that was the greatest gift of all and one I have carried with me since that day almost ten years ago. Now, I let myself be helped. Sometimes, I even ask for it!
( and btw I used every single thing in that gift basket!)
Prompt 251 – The Gift Giver
Write about a gift that you received that in some way defined your relationship with another. Where is that gift now (or where did it go)? What does it tell you about who you have become?
Wow! Suleika, your story took my breath away! It makes me so very happy to witness (albeit vicariously) the love for you through the actions and presence of your relatives. Happy Birthday (you said it is your 34th – hey?). The strength of your story gives me hope and assurance - it feels good. (So how did Jon get that piano up there?).
A gift that I received that defined my relationship with another…
In a previous prompt, Prompt 202, I wrote about a period in my life that allowed me to recognize I had worth. That I was valued. That I was acknowledged. Now, from the perspective of Prompt 251, I see that my fifth-grade teacher’s attention was a gift that changed the way I felt about myself for the rest of my life. She turned on the light showing me that I mattered. Clearly (to me), this awareness defined my relationships with everyone from that point forward by strengthening my compassion for those suffering and intensifying my sensitivity to injustice. Consequently, my focus in life was/is serving others. I think she was an angel incarnate.
Mrs. Petersen, your love made a huge difference in my life.
Yesterday was a gift I’ll long remember. One of those days when the wind barrels into the inland valleys from the San Francisco Bay, bringing fog in the morning and a delightful combination of warm sun/cool breeze all day.
My husband, as patient as he’s been with the aftermath of my illness, and my often stubborn desire to just stay home where I’m safe, has been showing signs of longing lately to go out and fulfill his deep curiosity for what’s out there in the world.
So I planned an afternoon for us in a small town nearby, one with a lovely, tree-lined street, lots of shops and restaurants, surrounded by oak covered hills and fine houses.
I picked a restaurant where we could sit outside, safe from the boogeyman germs emanating from the breath of my fellow humans. It was perfect sitting there with the warm sun on my back and the cool breeze tickling my face, sharing a small lunch and a beer with Dave.
There is a lake outside this town, a reservoir tucked up in the hills with a paved trail that circles it. So we did something we haven’t done in a while and took a hike. It’s 2.7 miles, a distance that would have been easy back before I got sick, back in the days when hiking was our favorite thing. I’ve been trying to walk more but this was a lot, and I had to just make up my mind I could do it.
We hiked the whole thing, Dave and I, chatting the entire time. For me there is nothing better than a walk with someone you love, the way it leads to long and deep conversations. It reminds me that in spite of the traumas my mind and body have endured, the me I was before still exists. I can’t think of a better gift than that.