The gifts we leave behind

Thirty years ago, I gave a Christmas gift. Last week, it returned to me.

Photo by Eugene Golovesov

The perfume bottle would come back home with me. The pendant necklace, and the notecard too. And also, the jingle bell decorated with fake holly, which used to hang on her front door this time of year. I’d bat and paw it as a child, the incessant jangling of a cat determined to spread holiday cheer.

All these things and many more I packaged in tissue and bubble wrap. Tucked them amongst the dirty clothes in my suitcase; fabric packing peanuts for their flight back to California.

When my grandmother passed away at the end of October, I made plans to fly to Houston to organize and attend her memorial service in early December. I also made mental plans—which items from her home, the most constant of my life, would I want to take back with me? The big items, she’d discussed with us all in the last decade. But now, It’s a good opportunity for you to think about any smaller things you might want, my mother had told me.

The perfume bottle was the first thing I thought of.