My Christmas List

One of our family traditions at Thanksgiving is to sit around the dinner table and write down three things you are thankful and three things you want for Christmas.  You fold up the card, toss it in a bowl, and then everyone has to guess whose is whose.  It’s a wonderful way to share and reflect. 

My Christmas wish list is usually easy to guess.  My family knows I’ve become somewhat of a minimalist, and I don’t like clutter.  

The things I desperately want each year are more experiences.  My list usually reads like this: more time, more travel, and more tickets.

I learned this from my mom.  When she was close to the end of her life, one of my Aunts and I gathered on her bed.  Mom wanted a distraction from the pain, so she asked that we talk about our favorite things from the past.   We talked about canoeing in the rain, sunsets on coastal vacations, and all the songs we loved from Broadway shows we saw together. 

We never talked about sweaters, electronics, or bread makers.  Those gifts had long been forgotten.  And after she died, all I wanted was more time with mom, not more things. Those tangible gifts just became clutter I had to give away.

Luckily, my husband knows me well, and he’s given some of the most memorable experience gifts.  Over the years, I’ve gotten tickets to a Justin Timberlake concert or great seats to see our favorite artist whose song was in our wedding.   And I have done the same for him by getting him tickets to events like a professional baseball game. 

In twenty, thirty, forty years from now, I won’t remember any song lyrics to the concerts or who won or lost the game.  I’ll remember singing along to JT with a friend, listening to the special song from our wedding with my husband, and proudly watching my daughter run the bases in her Elsa dress after the Nationals game. 

So when my time comes and I’m the one laying in the hospital bed, these will be my stories.   These will be the gifts I talk about with my children.   In the end, I will have less stuff to give away, yet so much more to remember.