Mom gifted me a necklace ... but, really, so much more

I am the oldest child and the only daughter of my parents. Growing up, my mom and I were close. Fact is, we still are. She was the secret keeper as I was the first child to test the waters as I grew up and grew bold from a child to an adult. 

“Don’t tell your dad,” she’d tell me, often accompanied by a shake of her head, a roll of her eyes and a barely concealed grin as I entertained her with my latest escapades. 

My mom was — and still is — my confidante. But as she kept my secrets, I, too, kept hers. My parents' marriage was a muddle of emotions. Love was there but it was often buried when my dad flew into a rage. In today's world, a diagnosis of a mental health issue would be given. Why else would someone be fun, kind and loving in one moment and, without warning, spew anger and hatred the next? And then, just as quickly, pivot back to love as the tempest of the anger subsided? My dad never wounded with fists but his words cut sharp and deep. My mom was usually the intended target but all of us were fair game when his anger boiled over.

My dad died 22 years ago. His passing left emotions in all of us that required years of healing. The scars have faded but remain. The trickiest part is making peace with the unkindness and remembering the love. It’s not to whitewash the experience but to let it lay still with as few ripples as possible. 

One of the things my mom feels compelled to do right now is divest herself of things she no longer uses. And that includes some of her jewelry. 

Because I know the story of their union — both from the tears my mom shed while I hugged her, the eavesdropping I did when I was supposed to be elsewhere and witnessing the love and anger between them — I have mixed feelings when she asks me what I’d like to have. 

What I normally do is ask her about the piece. Where did she get it from? If it was a gift from Dad, I ask the story behind it. If it is a piece that makes her smile while she’s telling me why he gave it to her and if I like the piece, I accept it. But if it was a gift given out of guilt after a wave of rage, I tell her to pass it on to one of her grandchildren. All of them — adults now — have no memories of my dad. The beautiful pieces will only hold sunny memories. 

About a year ago, she gave me a tiny pink coral pendant and earrings. The coral is cut and shaped to be a flower. Dad bought it for her in the '70s when they were in Hawaii. It was a birthday gift and it makes her smile when she tells me the story. They were going to change their tickets to fly home and stay a little longer. Elvis was going to play a concert there and they wanted to go. They weren’t able to make the change, though. Another time.

She loved that set, loved everything about that trip and so, when the opportunity to be gifted it came, I proudly said yes.

Today, after I day spent with her at a medical appointment and shopping, I took her home and we visited. She disappeared momentarily and, when she came back, she had jewelry boxes in hand. The first thing she gifted me was her mom’s pearls. I knew my Grandma. Her passing was only a few years ago, just weeks shy of her 100th birthday. The pearls are a simple strand. What makes them even more meaningful is that I also was gifted — for my wedding — the pearls that belonged to my mom’s grandmother. I now have two generations of pearls!

I’m a sentimental girl so, in addition to crying, I also hold these treasures close. My grandma's pearls are meaningful because of the memories I recall of that sturdy, stubborn matriarch. Serious but kind, I get my love of baking from her. As the years passed and especially after my grandpa passed away, the sense of humour that was hidden away bubbled up to the surface and occasionally we’d get into a few antics. Apparently, it’s a lineage thing.

The other piece of jewelry my mom gifted me was something so personal I never would’ve dreamed I’d own it. It’s a white gold pendant; a small heart with an arrow running through it and tiny diamonds nestled on the shaft of the arrow. It’s beautiful in its simplicity. It’s beautiful in its elegance. Most of all, it’s beautiful because it’s something my dad gifted my mom “just because.” Growing up on a farm, my parents had to scrimp and save for any extras. The fact my Dad either sold livestock or squirrelled away money to give my mom this gift said a lot about the part of him that was kind and loving. 

My mom fell in love with that necklace immediately. It became her go-to necklace. She wore it whenever she dressed up and, when I look at that necklace, the memories of her wearing it and where we were when she did wash over me. 

Today, as I sat beside her, she carefully placed a tiny plastic bag in the palm of my hand. There was a tag inside that had the shortened form of my first name (which, believe it or not, is not WTF) and a second tiny bag. I looked at her quizzically and took the bag out, opened it, and shook out the coveted necklace. Of course, I cried. I asked her if she was sure, her reply was yes — she doesn’t wear much jewelry anymore and she wanted me to have it. 

The gift is priceless. The story behind it is priceless. The fact that there was love is priceless.

I shared this tonight when I got home in a message with My Friend, The Editor. I told him about the gift. I expected his response to be something along the lines of, “Wow, that’s great,” or “Good for you." Instead, his response was: “How do you feel about being gifted the necklace?" You see, My Friend knows the complicated relationship I had with my dad. I was going to fire off a response but instead sat and thought about it for a minute. And then I answered honestly 

“Because it was gifted to her out of love and happiness, I feel honoured. I feel special. I feel love for my dad for doing something beautiful for my mom."

The gift of the necklace made me feel love for my dad, something I’m not sure I’ve felt strongly for several years. I’ve forgiven him, forgiven me. I’ve let go of most of the hurt and all of the anger. I have made my peace. But something that was lacking was the love. There was love. Sometimes it was hard to see but it was there.

My mom thought she was giving me a necklace but it’s turned out to be so much more. It’s the start of remembering the love.