my mothers gift

A short story about mgrowing up.

My mother gave it to me a long time ago. When I was born I suppose. She had one like it but lost it before I came into the world. Though she lost her own she gave it to me, compelled not to keep it for her own. When I was a small girl she explained to me that it was a gift from God, “that’s why it is very important to keep it safe.” But I know it was her who offered the gift, even if I was too young to remember. I have never seen God…well I have never seen God but my mother would swear she had seen him give gifts to others and I might add take them away. It has always seemed he’s fond of the latter.
It is hard for me to accurately describe this gift, I no longer have it. It’s a relic from years ago. Every year the memory of it seems to fade a little more. But there are places I went when I had it that I will never forget and things I’ve done as well. It was small, I carried it with me wherever I went. I never once forgot it I loved it that much. I t was always clean and bright and could put a smile on any face I showed it too, especially my mother.
It was the most special thing I have ever owned, though I did not know it then. “That’s really something special you have there”, mister Berry said to me once. He was my eight grade health teacher. Now you keep that safe, he said much like my mother. People can be jealous of it and try to swindle it off of you and even, God forbid, take it.
Despite what my elders told me, sometimes it didn’t seem so special. Especially entering freshman year of high school. “Why do you still have that?”, the other girls would say. “Just throw it away”, ”We don’t keep childish things from our mothers.” It was not something that is meant to be kept your entire life, not even a small part of it. A gift sometimes will always remain a gift. Even if it was given it is meant to be given again. But oh did I love it and I could not easily depart with something so miraculous, even if it was a gift meant to be given.
Keeping it safe was becoming harder, especially by sixteen. I almost lost it in a friend’s car at a dance but remembered I dropped it on the seat. And what I was told was jealousy from the other girls, seemed more like hatred and pity. My friend Diana had one a lot like mine. She loved hers too but gave it to someone she said was very, very special to her. So I would do the same. I knew someone special, as special as it was and I knew he would appreciate it and take care of it. No more teasing and guarding it, he would keep it safe. The others would think I threw it away but I would know it was safe with him.
As I learned a little too late, something like that is too hard a gift for others to realize. They never love it like you do, nobody cares appreciates a dumb keepsake from babyhood. But they take it all the same. When I had told my mother I gave it to someone else she cried, the thought of me giving away such an amazing gift bestowed from her was unbearable. She had helped me remember it, I missed it so, until God had, as he is so fond of, taken something very important from her. No one is here to help me remember it now.
I have a daughter of my own, she is not even a year old. I have given something to her something I found. Shiny small and beautifully sensitive like my own, I am sure I cannot keep it for myself. I know it is hers, a gifts meant to be given. And it will be hers to do as she likes.