The Gift Closet
My late husband loved to shop.
Many of my friends told me how lucky I was that he loved to spend hours at the mall. I do enjoy shopping on occasion, but Tim REALLY liked shopping. And he didn’t believe in wimpy online shopping. He was a devoted mall shopper. He started downstairs, at one end of the mall and methodically went to every store in the mall, going in one direction. Then he’d turn and go back in the other direction. And then he’d go upstairs and do it all over again. Frankly, shopping with him was exhausting.
Tim mostly shopped for other people, buying gifts that he stashed away in what he called the “gift closet.” He shopped year-round, and he shopped whenever we traveled. Sometimes, he didn’t know who the recipient would be, but he bought it anyway, because whatever the item was would “come in handy as a gift one day.” Usually, he had someone in mind for gifts he found. But occasionally he’d buy a gift for someone, put it in the closet, and forget about it. For a couple of years, Aunt Margie had multiple Christmas gifts in that closet, and Tim didn’t discover that until the time came in December to wrap them.
We had a multitude of interesting gifts that somehow never made it to the gift-wrapping stage, and sat there for years, waiting on the perfect recipient and the right occasion. Some are still waiting.
Recently, I scoured the closet, in an attempt to organize and (hopefully) purge. I found lots of intriguing things:
A coffee mug that changes colors when it holds hot liquid
A Waterford crystal bowl
A Waterford crystal hockey puck
An assortment of Hot Wheels cars
A Barbie doll
Assorted costume jewelry
Books with titles as diverse as To Kill a Mockingbird, Arnold Palmer’s A Life Well Played, The World According to Mr. Rogers, and Dr. Seuss’s Oh the Places You’ll Go!
A set of Pittsburgh Penguins bobbleheads
And, there’s a soap dispenser shaped like an outhouse.
Tim was always proud of the fact that he could, at a moment’s notice, reach into that closet and pull out just the perfect gift for whoever showed up unexpectedly or whatever occasion arose. I’m not sure who would appreciate the soap dispenser shaped like an outhouse, but it’s still there in case I ever find anyone who would.
My attempt to clean out that closet was unfruitful. Who was I kidding? Did I really think I’d be able to part with these gifts that are just waiting for their forever home?
But I got to thinking about the closet, and the role it’s played in our family. We’ve all had times when we reached into the closet and produced a gift, magically, without the need to go to the store or shop Amazon. Each of my sons, on more than one occasion, found birthday gifts for new girlfriends, when they discovered at the last minute that, in fact, it was the new girlfriend’s birthday. Once, the gift closet came to my rescue when I’d forgotten to buy a wedding gift. (The bride and groom didn’t receive the outhouse soap dispenser, but were lucky recipients of a Waterford bowl instead.) And we always had no problem with Christmas gifts for Aunt Margie.
It’s occurred to me that our gift closet is like a memory bank. Just as I can reach in the closet and pull out a gift, I can also reach into that vast store of memories I have, and pull one out to share. Since my husband died, I’ve realized the importance of pulling out memories and stories to share with our family and friends, so that his presence is still part of us. I’ve also realized the importance of sharing those memories with the grandchildren who will never know him, or a future daughter-in-law who will never have the pleasure of receiving one of his carefully chosen gifts.
I can pull out stories about his generosity, his sarcastic sense of humor, his never-ending hard work, his desire to change the world with his often unsolicited (but right every damn time) advice.
Recently a new friend of mine who never knew my husband asked, “Tell me about Tim.”
Oh, how I appreciated that moment. At first, I started to use adjectives to describe him, such as “generous,” and “thoughtful.” But then I realized that she had given me the chance to tell her a story. So, I told her about his gift closet and the year he bought four gifts for Aunt Margie without realizing it.
Tim died three months before his second granddaughter, Abby, was born. She’s five years old now, and is quite envious of her older sister Charlotte (and a little bit peeved), because Charlotte got a chance to know their grandfather before he died. Thus, next time Abby asks me to tell her what Pap-Pap was like, I’m ready.
I’ll say, “Come sit with me. Listen. I’ve been saving this gift for you.”
