It should be the diamonds, the way the Christmas lights reflected off them this morning as I sat beside our Christmas tree, the proud look on my husband's face and our silent acknowledgement of all the years together when diamonds were not in the budget. Even the thought of them was out of the question. It should be the diamonds that brought me back to my blog this Christmas. It should be the thought of upcoming nights with these diamonds in my ears, my husband's hand in mine and adventures before us that stir me enough to write. It really should be the diamonds.
Instead it's a cat. This cat. It came wrapped in plain white paper with as much tape as a 6 year old can manage to fit onto such a small package. It was given with joy, pure jumping up and down in the living room joy.
She does this, our granddaughter. Every holiday, birthday or simply when the mood strikes her. She searches her toybox (and sometimes her brother's) or her drawers or closet for just the right gift. Just the right fit for the person fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of her love.
This morning, this Christmas morning I unwrapped her present and as I looked at the plastic cat, this brown stained stencil she told me why she chose this for me. "It's for you, Mimi, because you used to have a cat and she died and you miss her."
We should have named her Joy.