Now that my daughter is no longer a baby, I recently started packing up her baby stuff to donate or throw away. This is a difficult task for moms, as we tend to get attached to our children’s baby stuff, imagining memories inside teddy bears and listening to the whisper of bedtime songs on their nursery bedding. After hours of sorting, packing, and reminiscing, I sat down at my daughter’s toddler desk. This was an item that would never be given away or thrown away. This was my old desk that my own mother lovingly stored and kept until I had a daughter.

When my mother brought it to us, dusty from being stored for many years, I remember her saying something very strange: “The best gifts are still given… long after thanks are said.” It was a curious thing to say and she spoke the words with a small half-smile that seemed almost cryptic. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother with that expression before. I didn’t understand her curious words or her smile at that time. With my own daughter calling my attention, already banging open and closed desk drawers and the new baby screaming for a bottle, I certainly didn’t have time to contemplate the meaning of anything.

Now, feeling slightly dizzy with excitement, I sat down at my daughter’s desk. She had seemed gigantic to him when she first walked into her room and now she could barely hold her. I felt the sturdy, solid construction as she sat me down on the tiny white chair. I ran my fingertips over the top of the desk, still smooth despite hours and years of writing stories, coloring, and painting. As my fingers moved over the surface I remembered the nights I would kneel beside Emma, ​​helping her form her letters. Memories of handmade birthday cards jumped into my head, giant “I love you, Mommy!” words written by her small hand. Suddenly I couldn’t stand that my little girl was too big for this desk. Where had the years gone? I couldn’t imagine not peeking into her room and seeing her sitting at this desk, head bowed and brow furrowed in concentration, curls bouncing, her smile shining.

I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly tears welled up in my eyes.

This is nonsense, calm down, I told myself. But, I wouldn’t listen to my own reasoning.

This is how my own mother found me: a grown woman sitting at a toddler desk crying for no reason except that her little girl became a big girl too soon.

“What are you doing?” my mother asked me.

“Nothing, just…thinking.”

My mother didn’t say anything, somehow always knowing when words weren’t needed.

“Remember when Emma made that card for Grandpa when he was in the hospital?”

My mom walked into the room and placed a hand gently on my shoulder, “Sure, she wrote ‘Get well soon, mom won’t give me candy.'”

My mother’s voice was low and soft, reassuring: “So many good memories here at this desk. I remember watching you learn the alphabet. How your eyes lit up when you spelled a word correctly for the first time!”

My mother ran her fingers across the smooth wood where she’d just touched moments before, “I remember I picked out this desk for you. It was more than we could afford, but I knew it was perfect for you.”

There was a heavy silence in the room, both my mother and I contemplating our own memories,

“The best gifts are the ones that continue to be given… long after you say thank you,” my mother said.

And suddenly, like a bolt in my brain, I understood. After all those years, I finally got it. This desk, this simple piece of furniture housed more than just pens, markers and crayons. It contained my thoughts, dreams and secrets from when I was a child. They were all there, etched in the wood forever, now linked with the hopes and loves of my own child. The best gifts continue to be given, year after year, generation after generation. Meaningful, quality gifts like this girl’s desk that my own mother lovingly selected for me so many years ago.

The best gifts continue to be given… long after you say thank you.

“Thank you, mom. For everything.”

He gave me another cryptic smile. Just then, Emma burst into the room and found all of her baby toys in boxes.

“What are you going to do with my old desk, mom?” she asked me, her blue eyes full of the dreams she had already dreamed and one day she would live.

“Keep it, of course.”

“So that?” she asked.

“For someone very special. The best gifts continue to be given.”