a Christmas story

This particular Christmas story is hard for me to write. But I've already burst into tears about it at least three times today, so hopefully I'll make it through.

My dad owned a lot of ties. And when I say a lot, I mean...he probably had at least 75 ties hanging up in his closet. He had ties of every shape, color, and pattern--from silly ones covered in smiley faces or the Three Stooges, to ties with the nativity scene or a print of Monet's water lilies. Collected over the past thirty years, all of these ties hung on two very-overworked tie racks in a corner of the closet, each already tied to save him time in the mornings. These ties are closely linked to my memories of my dad--when I see them I immediately think of him, of times when he wore them.

When my dad died, my sister and I talked a few times about maybe each of us kids taking a few of the ties, since they represent such a vital link to his personality. We didn't care too much what happened to most of his other clothes; button-up shirts and socks aren't that unique. But the ties speak to his character, to his humor and his interests and his personal style.

One day I went into my parents' closet to look for a purple tie (for a Clue costume party...yes. I am very cool.) and they were gone. My sister asked our Mom about the ties and she cryptically answered that, "they were taken care of." This was after my mom had donated most of his clothes and we were convinced that either she couldn't handle talking about them or, worse, she'd gotten rid of them all. I didn't hear anything about the ties for another month and a half. I figured the only tie we still had was the one my mom had put into the memory box, the white one we had decorated for Father's Day a million years ago. I tried to tell myself that this was fine. As I've learned from watching countless episodes of Hoarders, objects are not the memories themselves.

But this afternoon, after we'd all opened up our other gifts--with wrapping paper everywhere and stocking piled up haphazardly, with the baby upstairs taking a nap and the dog wandering around us begging for treats--my mom surprised us with a special Christmas gift.

She made each of us wait to open them at the same time. And when I pulled back the tissue paper, I immediately burst into tears. Far from getting rid of my dad's ties, my mom had taken them and sewn together the most beautiful pillows. Each pillow is created out of nine ties that were picked out specially for us--mine has his "Children of the World" tie, and an African looking tie, Jason got his golf ties, Chris his funny ties, my sister his floral ties. She even made a very beautiful pillow for Caleb, covered in brown ties for his Grandpa Brown. Even if he will never be able to remember him. Oh, and she also made two pillows out of almost thirty Christmas ties. Like I said, my dad had an impressive number of ties. And my mom is a beast.

 all of the pillows

 The tie pillows, for the four kids and Caleb

These creations might not mean much to other people, and they might see first the clashing patterns and prints. But all I see when I look at these are my dad. I see him wearing them, I see the face that was connected to the tie, I see the smile that was always on that face. And I see the love and dedication that my mom poured into these works of art.

None of us had any clue, though apparently plenty of other people knew about her project. She kept it completely secret--and I've been living with her! Every time I would walk out of the house to go to work, she would immediately start ironing the ties, pinning, sewing, cutting. She'd work furiously all day until it was about time for me to get off work. By the time I got home, she'd be sitting on the couch, watching TV and working on her puzzles for the day, like normal. I never suspected a thing.

She also made each of us a bigger pillow out of one of his favorite sweaters, familiar fabrics and patterns from my childhood. One of those sweaters is actually the one I remember my dad wearing in that first, awful dream I had about him after he died. But holding those pillows reminds me, if only slightly, of hugging my dad. Which is a really lovely thing.

I'm not surprised that she was able to make them, since I know she's really good at sewing. But I'm impressed that she kept it such a surprise. I'm amazed because they are so beautiful; I'm amazed at the amount of work it must have taken. I'm taken aback because I had underestimated how awesome and strong and creative my Mom could be, even during this most difficult time. And mostly I'm overwhelmed because they are absolutely the most perfect gifts for this Christmas.

thank you.