Empty Presents...

The box was wrapped in gold paper with a silver bow. No card attached. Just this gorgeous present. It had been part of her family’s Christmas decorations for as long as she could remember. There were five “presents” like this. All different colors. But the gold one with the silver bow was her favorite.

When she was little, she wanted to unwrap them. To get the gifts inside. But her mother told her there was nothing inside the boxes, they were empty. They were just for show, decorations to make the tree look more finished before the real presents were placed there. Once the real presents started being placed under the tree the empty boxes got pushed further and further back. Hidden away under the crush of multicolored boxes and bags.

But Christmas morning after the rush of tearing paper and oohing and aahing over new gifts those empty boxes would come back to the front of the tree making it look like Christmas was just starting. Even though it was over.

She could remember lying under the tree watching the lights reflecting in the gold paper. The years they had multicolor lights, the year her mother switched to just clear lights, then the year she went back to the multicolor lights “Who cares what’s in style? Christmas is about tradition, not style!”

And those five empty packages were tradition.

She could remember daydreaming about what could be in the boxes. That maybe they weren’t empty at all but filled with… and that changed every year. Barbie clothes. Books. New clothes. The shoes she really wanted but her mother said were too expensive for feet that grew a half size every month. Makeup that her father said she was too young to wear even though Jenny had been wearing colored lip gloss for months. In her dreams her golden box always held just exactly what she wanted most.

When she was old enough to help decorate, she was the one who started placing the packages under the fully decorated tree. Always putting her favorite box front and center. Turning it to just exactly at the right angle to hide the spots where a 5-year-old her had tried to pick the tape off to just get a peek at what was inside. Not fully believing her mother that she would put an empty box under the tree year after year.

Her first year away at college she had been disappointed to find the tree already filled with the real presents by the time she got home. Her mother hadn’t even bothered to put the five empty gifts under the tree that year since all of the kids were out of the house until mid-December, so there had been no rediscovery of them hidden in the back after unwrapping the real gifts. She had tried not to show too much disappointment but apparently had failed since they were back the next year. Just those five the first day she came home, then the real presents came out from wherever her mother had been storing them.

After she and her siblings had all moved out and started families of their own the boxes became objects of fascination for a new generation. The green one with the red plaid bow had not survived the twins’ first Christmas at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s house. They had all laughed as they tore open the empty box and played with it more than their “real presents.” She had laughed and also had moved her gold box out of reach.

Then she and her husband moved far enough away that Christmas visits were made by phone. Traveling with the kids around the holiday was just too much. It was easier to visit during the summer when they had time off of school and no other distractions. Her mother would send her pictures of the festivities, but they hadn’t been home for the holiday in at least ten years.

A decade since she had seen the gold box with the silver bow. She could see it peeking out of the top of a box of Christmas decorations. The shelves in her parents’ garage organized and tidy, just like the rest of the house. Those two rows were Halloween decorations, those three were Christmas.

“We can sort all of them and if you want something you put it in your keep pile, anything left over the auction house can donate or…”

Her oldest brother had been directing the clean-up. But even he had a hard time saying that they would just throw away those things.

But it was time. The house was going on the market, and they needed to get it ready to sell. Something that sounds easy when someone else is talking about doing it but when it is your turn? When it’s your childhood that is on the block? Then it’s a very different feeling.

They had finished the inside of the house. Tagging all of the things they wanted to keep, finding that they all have very different attitudes about it. Her sister had wanted a few of the older heavier pieces of furniture, the ones that had come from their grandparents’ house. Her brother had wanted some of the art pieces. She had only wanted the coffee set. The creamer and sugar dish. She could still envision her father making her mother’s coffee for her. Dropping a cube of sugar and just the right dash of cream into a cup BEFORE pouring the coffee. He said that was the real trick. Put it in first and the pouring of the coffee would mix it perfectly. The set would be a memory of both of her parents that she could touch.

The auction house would take care of the rest of the things. Selling, donating or…

But first they had to sort the boxes.

Her brother pulled the Christmas decorations off the shelf and…

“Hunh…”

“What?”

“It has your name on it.”

He picked up the gold box with the silver bow and sure enough there was a tag on it now. There were two more wrapped boxes now. All that was left of the original five. One had her sister’s name, and one her brother’s.  The boxes were theirs now. One for each of them. 

She was already trying to decide how to carry it home without wrecking it, where it would go under her tree when her sister said, “They aren’t empty.”

She shook her box and could feel something inside shift.

“Should we open them?”

“I think we are supposed to.”

She sat on the garage floor. Boxes of Christmas decorations all around her and held her gold box. 

“On three?”

“On three.”

“One, two, three…”

They all opened their boxes. Her brother tearing his open with abandon like he had always done. Her sister carefully placing the bow to the side before ripping her paper as well. She looked for the edge of tape she had started peeling at five years old but found all of the old tape had been split and then covered with new. She took the small pocketknife from her father’s toolbox and split the seams again. Carefully unwrapping the gift without ruining her precious gold paper.

Inside the box was an envelope. Her parents had written each of them a letter and packaged them with favorite photographs of their childhood. Awards, pool parties, beach days. Each photo had a few sentences marked in the letter. Memories their parents had of them.

She looked at her brother and at her sister. Tears streaming down each of their faces as they looked at what their parents had held most dear about them and them alone. Another moment with their parents. Another few minutes being held in their embrace and being shown their love.

In her mind her gold box had always held what she wanted most. She had been right.