When I was growing up in the 1980s and 1990s, name brands and material things meant everything, and my mother indulged my desires for things like Guess Jeans and a Liz Claiborne handbag. I felt like the most stylish girl on the block.
Even though I really wanted a pair of Sam & Libby ballet flats, she bought me a pair of Coasters from a discount chain. If I wanted the high-end stuff, I had to mix it in with the more reasonable fare, and to me, it was worth having an off-color pink flat if I meant I could have a triangle on my behind.
My mother always told me things don't matter but people do. As a mother of four myself, I'm not sure I always agree with her sentiment. Yes, I love and care for my family and friends, and they mean the world to me. But, I also love things and hold on to them tight, particularly things from the people I love.
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I want my children to understand the importance of things.
No, I am not talking about designer handbags and expensive cars. I want them to appreciate gifts given with love, no matter the monetary value. A gift could come from anywhere – a vending machine, a garage sale, or my favorite kind … from someone's heart and hands.
The greatest gift my mother ever gave me didn't cost much money, but she sacrificed almost two years of her time creating it by hand from 1985 to 1987.
She began crafting the dress I would wear for my First Holy Communion, a sacrament in the Catholic church, when she was pregnant with my youngest brother. She finished just in time for my big day shortly after his second birthday, and she's held on to it for 37 years.
I only wore the dress a handful of times.
Even though she spent hours hand-smocking the bodice and piecing together imported lace from Ireland, the dress was made for a very special occasion. I wore it on the day of the sacrament, for a brunch with classmates, and for a formal photo.
For nearly four decades, it hung alone in a closet until a few months ago, when my mother and I showed it to my only daughter, who was getting ready to make her own First Holy Communion.
I didn't know how she would feel about such an old-fashioned dress.
It's nothing like the more elaborate dresses many little girls wear today. My mother calls it "classic children's clothing," and although I prayed she'd want to wear it, I fully prepared myself for her to wrinkle her nose and walk away. But when my mother pulled it out of the plastic bag, my little girl's eyes lit up.
We told her how my mother, her Maurmi, had spent every extra second of her time making that dress just for me. And as her only daughter, it was something very special to me.
My little girl, at just 8 years old, in her infinite wisdom, looked up and asked, "Can I wear this dress, too? If Maurmi made it, it's the one I want." My eyes filled with tears, and my heart filled with joy.
My mother's face glowed as my daughter put the gown on.
The pride she felt seeing her granddaughter in that dress was palpable. The dress is just a thing, but the love it was crafted with was the true gift. The day my daughter made the sacrament, she wore my dress with a flower headpiece she picked out and a simple pair of white shoes.
We prepared her that choosing that dress would mean she wouldn't look like anyone else, but she didn't care. She wanted the dress her Maurmi made for her mom. We paused for a picture together later that day on the steps at my parents' home next to my First Communion picture, and we all beamed with pride.
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We officially have a family heirloom to share.
It's just a thing, but it was made with love by a mother who is now a grandmother and could see her handiwork enjoyed by multiple generations. Will that dress make it to my granddaughter's First Holy Communion someday? I'm not sure, but it's been cleaned, pressed, and put back in plastic to protect it, just in case. And if it does make its way out again, three generations of love will be in the threads, the lace, and the beautiful pearl buttons.
It's a gift that has the power to continue giving joy forever. It's one of those things that I can never part with and will help always keep my mother's spirit close to my heart.
