I have been purging the many bins we put in storage when we moved.  These were items we did not use but one day might. They are items once loved, but not anymore or gifts we received and keep although we don’t need or want any longer. It is easier to store than to purge. Then there are the bins that contain the kids’ baby stuff. It’s these bins that get me. Especially Zane’s.

I was the mother who scrapbooked their entire life. One book for the school years for each child, another of life in general. I had a photo album for each of random pictures they might enjoy.  The intent was to give it to them to share with their mates and their children.

I giggle when I go through Payton’s.  I put aside mementos to share with her. I pack up precious dresses that she once wore, for her (future) baby.  It is melancholy but a sweet melancholy.  She is here to share these memories with me and to hold the physical reminders in her hands.

With Zane’s, each quote, I read of the things he used to say to me, I begin to cry. In a calendar of his 4th year, I had recorded on Mother’s Day that Zane hugged me.  He said, “this is your first gift Mimi, do you like it?” And then the following month, I said to him I was wondering what to get his father for Father’s Day.  And he answered, “what about a hug? You liked yours”.  Each of these quotes, each picture, I am flooded with what was happening at that time. All the joy and wonder of his wee life. His favorite camp shirt, his teddy bears, his beloved mickey mouse jacket.

He would not take that jacket off; it was his favorite.  The soft brushed cotton now feels like silk with all the years of wear.  It is still in great shape.  I hold it up.  Was he really this small once?  And as I bring it in to hug it, I can feel him and from deep inside me escapes a wail of pain and the flood gates open wide.

As I am bent over the bin in tears, something shiny catches the corner of my eye.  It is a silver box.  I put the jacket down, wipe my face with the back of my hand and reach in to pick it up. I open it and find a necklace.  It is a silver heart with turquoise insert. I recognize it. The memory of Zane comes alive, and I am sitting next to him.  He is showing me this necklace.  He is in his early teens.  I asked who’s it for.  He says, “I’m not sure.  I thought it was for my girlfriend but that’s not it.” I said it was pretty and anyone would enjoy it.  He smiled.

I never knew what happened to that necklace. He never said.  And I don’t know how it ended up in a bin of his baby things. Did Zane know that there would come a day that I would be missing him as I went through his baby things, to find this piece which would bring me comfort in that moment?  I am sure he did not. But he did know then that he was meant to buy that necklace and he did. He knew not who it was for but that it was for someone, and he was comfortable buying it knowing only that. He believed the answer would reveal itself in due time. That was all he knew. And it was good enough. 

Sitting alone, holding this piece of jewelry, I smiled.  Maybe it was for me.  We just didn’t know it at that time. Maybe the Universe gave Zane an intuitive push to buy and hide the necklace in his baby things. Maybe Zane did, thinking someday, the two of us would find it when we were going through his things together. The Universe knew better. I put it on and smiled.  “Thanks Zaney, for showing your love in so many magical ways.”