Wanting to Need

            We can always want more. Whether it’s more sleep, more ice cream, or more time with someone, I usually find myself wanting more. Although I want more, I do not need more. And so when people ask me what I want for my birthday, I realize that I do not want something tangible, something material (but thank you for the money, Dad and Kathie) I just want and need to be surrounded by those who are important to me – simple, cheesy, honest.

            My Mom was the most thoughtful gift-giver. Growing up, I always got what I wanted for the holidays. One year, however, my Mom gave me a box of things she knew I’d need for the rest of my life.

            The solid, oak box was covered by a sheet. I slowly removed the sheet and found a light green and cream-striped box. My initials were fashioned beautifully in calligraphy. I opened it up and looked at my Mom. She explained that it was a hope chest, and it contained over twenty keepsakes. Each year, she said, she’d add something to it. But for now, she instructed me to unpack each gift and read the cards attached to each gift. And so like an explorer, I unpacked the treasure.

            When my Mom first started working retail, she traveled to the Orient. I carefully unpacked a twenty-year-old wine-colored kimono in mint condition. The silk robe melted in my hands. My Mom used to wear a blue and white kimono in the mornings while she drank her coffee and cleaned up around the house: Now you have one just like me.

            I dove in for the next item and carefully removed a German beer stein from the chest. I recognized it from my grandparent’s house. It belonged to my grandfather who passed away when I was four. Today, it is housed in my apartment in Charlotte, and the colors remain bold, the designs remain sharp.

            I picked out a large box, and my Mom told me to handle it with care. Two, Waterford crystal champagne glasses emerged from the delicate packaging: Crystal for your wedding day, Ilana. She reached in and removed a matching set of knives used to cut a wedding cake: You will display these on the cake table. One last piece remained in the wedding portion, the original book she used to plan her wedding. Faded cursive notes slept in the margins.

            Next, I found a colorful cookbook, a beautiful apron, and a porcelain hotplate. My Mom tried to contain the path to womanhood in the hope chest, and as I tore away the tissue paper, I knew that she was giving me what I needed since she wouldn’t be around. I didn’t want her to leave, but I knew she needed to give me the hope contained in that chest.

            When she passed away, my Dad placed her jewelry and some other keepsakes in the chest. I have yet to transport it to Charlotte, but when I go home, it is the most comforting artifact I have to remember her by. It is the kind of hope that stays alive.

            My Mom loved entertaining and throwing parties so this year, just like past years, will be no different. I will host a party, but I will not ask for gifts. What I need and what I want will not come in a form of jewelry or clothing. What I want is the companionship of my friends, a few good drinks, and some new memories.

            And so my Mom taught me what I should want, and what I should need, and at almost twenty-five, this lesson represents one of the most important in my life.

            Come wanting, come needing. I’ll see you Saturday.