Precious Memories: The Cycle of Giving and Receiving

I had just returned from dropping my daughter off for her first day of kindergarten. She wore a cute little blue denim jumper with an elephant embroidered on the front over a red long-sleeved T-shirt and red sneakers to match. She was adorable and so excited about starting school. I was excited too, until the ride back home when I cried like a baby because my sweet girl was growing up and making her first big move from being constantly in my care. Oh she had gone to some mom’s day out programs, but those didn’t count as they didn’t happen every day or even every week. Starting today, she would be in the school system for at least 13 years to come. That was a big change for me, if not for her.

I tried to keep most of the tears at bay while on the bus, but seriously, I could have wailed and gnashed my teeth and no one would have paid me any attention. But these teeth cost too much to gnash, so I tried to stem the tears until I was home again. Walking from the bus stop to my house with no little hand in mine, no youthful voice willing to chatter about anything she saw or thought of as she skipped along beside me, just underlined this momentous change in our lives. As I unlocked the door to my silent house, I reminded myself that helping her grow up to be an independent person was my job and I was not helping by getting all weepy over it. Turning on the stereo, I kicked off my shoes, poured another cup of coffee and decided to face the day like an adult.

To console myself about this life change, I decided to go through my daughter’s closet and pack away clothes that no longer fit. As I sifted through the child-sized hangers with pants, shirts, and dresses, memories of where they had been bought and times she had worn them sifted into my awareness. It was just as good a way to revisit earlier times as flipping through a photo album or watching family videos. Better in some ways because these memories were so specific to me and my daughter. I selected all of these clothes, washed and cared for them and helped her choose what to wear for each occasion, small or large, and then put them on her or later, taught her how to do this for herself.

There were all kinds of memories flowing from these clothes today. Here was the yellow sun dress she had worn to a picnic last summer. She had gotten sun burned that day mostly because she kept removing her hat and running off before I could apply enough sun screen, but she never wanted to wear this yellow dress again, as though it was somehow the fault of the dress that she had to deal with the discomfort of sun burn.

And here was the T-shirt with a train on the front that we bought from the boys department because we couldn’t find one in the girl’s department that featured a train. She told me that day that she was going to drive a train when she got bigger and I totally believed her. That one I put aside because even if it didn’t fit her any more, she was still pretty attached to it. Maybe I could make a small pillow from the fabric.

On the far left end of the closet, the part that is the hardest to get to, I found a row of ruffled dresses from smallest to largest all lined up and nearly pristine as though they had never been worn. That’s because they had mostly never been worn. These were all gifts from her grandmother who was a bit out of touch with her granddaughter to say the least. I’d put her in one of these every once in a while for a picture or to visit the unobservant grandmother, but if left in it for too long, the dresses had a way of meeting a brutal and unsalvageable end while on my daughter’s little body. I smiled and pulled them out to add to the donation pile.

The thorough sorting left neat rows of jeans, shorts, t-shirts, sweaters, and a handful of jumpers and skirts that had no ruffles at all, all things my daughter would wear without complaint. As the closet in front of me became the right closet of clothes for my daughter, I paused to appreciate the little person she had become and could only smile at what she would grow into one day. To say that I was proud of her would be a big understatement. I was filled with so much love and pride and admiration for her and I was so happy to be her mother. Suddenly, I fully understood a phrase my own grandmother use to say to me. “You are my heart.” Yes, this little person was the very beat of my heart and I looked forward to picking her up from her first day at school in a couple of hours and continuing our journey together as long as she would have me as a side kick.

Closing the closet doors, I picked up the pile of discards and prepared to pack them up for the donation box. Sharing these outgrown clothes with others who could use them was as much charity for my soul as I hoped it would be for them. I know that people talk a lot about how it is better to give than receive, but that’s not really true. Giving and receiving is a cycle and in order to do one well, you must gain some skill at the other. It’s like breathing in and out. It’s necessary to do both. Today, I received the comfort of reminiscing through the past few years of my daughter’s life and the pleasure of recognizing her for who she has become, and now I was able to give these useful and some totally new clothes to others who would receive and then give in return. At any rate, I’d do my part. After receiving so much, I was ready to give back and let the cycle continue.