Practicing Graciousness

At one time or another we have all received a gift for which we have had to feign gratitude.  I was given many chances to hone this skill, as my Mom loved nothing better than to wrap an extraordinary number of presents for my birthday and for Christmas.  She thought I would enjoy the unwrapping as much as the actual contents.  My birthday is shortly before the traditional start of school, and I remember several instances of eagerly tearing open an alluring package to find . . . a half-dozen spiral notebooks.  Really.  I tried to act pleased, but I must not have been terribly convincing, as Mom would hasten to explain that she just wanted me to have "something else" to unwrap.

Mom is now in an assisted living facility, and her days of shopping for gifts of any kind are past.  Her memory is unreliable; her days are no longer filled with board meetings and accounting work but with bingo and Animal Planet.  But even as her world is narrowing and parts of her are slipping away, there are moments of grace and graciousness.

One day last week she called to tell me that several women had brought bags of new books to her facility and had given them away to the residents.  Mom was one of the first on the scene; as an inveterate bargain hunter, she was drawn like a moth to a flame.  But she did not want the books for herself; she said, "I know you like to read, so I got them for you."  She proceeded to read me the titles, and I could tell they were from a genre I generally do not care for, but I promised to remind her to give them to me the next time I visited.  I was so touched by her gesture that I could not bring myself to tell her that the books were really intended for the residents and their library.  I felt a bittersweet pang at her remembering that I like to read, and at her childlike assumption that ANY book would be one I would enjoy.

Saturday Mom was enormously pleased to present me the books, still in their bright gift bag.  A quick glance confirmed that two of the three would be secretly returned (unread) to the facility library.  I will read the third one, so that I can honestly tell her I've done so, should she ask.

This time, I did not have to feign gratitude.  The books are immaterial; the true gift is my seeing the happiness Mom drew from being able to give.

Oddly enough, out of all of the birthday gifts Mom gave me over the years, I cannot recall any specific items other than those spiral notebooks.  Perhaps the opportunity to practice graciousness was the "something else" for me to unwrap.  Thank you, Mom.  Really.