  My mother died in 1997. I say this with some hesitation because it always evokes the usual “I’m sorry,” from the the listener, regardless of whether they knew mom or not.
Yes, indeed the passing of a loved one, especially a parent, is always a sad thing, but mom had been ill for quite some time. For the last couple of years, she was not the person that I remembered, nor the person that she wanted to be. Going through the grief process is something that everyone must do in their own way and in their own time.
As the only child of my parents’ 51 year marriage, it was left to me to deal with mom’s belongings. Complicated by the fact that my own family was moving into a new home, the process of unpacking and sorting seemed never ending. Mom had always been a saver. She had so many hobbies over her lifetime, and I was now the recipient of so many of these “treasures.” Most of the things were bits and pieces of her life for which I had no use or desire, except for that occasional momento.
Mom wasn’t the sentimental type and, therefore, so many of the things I found that might have held precious memories for her, now kept those secrets locked tightly away. However, there was one item that I had always dreamed of owning ever since I was a little girl. Weeks of combing through boxes refused to yield my precious prize, and my father was no help as he had been mired in his own grief as he packed and boxed mom’s belongings.
I prayed that he had not thought this one item too small and unimportant to save for me. Finally, however, today I opened a box and sitting there so unassuming was the item I had been searching and hoping to find. My mother’s button box. So seemingly inconsequential and unimportant as it sat in the bottom of that box, it contained so many of my childhood memories.
I removed the box of buttons and sat on the floor to receive my gift. As I opened it, memories flooded out. Mom had been a professional seamstress for most of her life. So much of her time was spent in her sewing room doing alterations for other people and sewing precious stitches of love for me. I remembered all of the people that passed through that room and the friendships that came and went through the years.
For quite some time, mom had also designed costumes for a local theater company, and I remembered all of the interesting people and beautiful costumes. I grew up in that room, playing with blocks and puzzles, then moving to Barbies as I got older. However, the most special treat was always when I was allowed to play with mom’s button collection. I don’t know what the attraction was for me, but I suspect it had something to do with all the beautiful colors and shapes. I loved to let them sift through my fingers as other children might do with sand. I was never allowed to just take them from the shelf without permission.
Permission to play with the buttons was always a gift that mom gave me. Even as an adult, with my own child, I remember asking for permission to see the buttons and watching in glee as my own daughter became fascinated with them, too. Mom probably never knew how much those buttons meant to me, but perhaps she did and that was the reason she always presented them to me to play with as a Queen might present the crown jewels.
There are buttons in that jar that sparkle like diamonds and those were always my favorite when I was a child. There are buttons from favorite clothing, long outgrown and discarded, except for those few saved buttons. I don’t remember mom ever taking any buttons from that box to use, but it continued to grow and grow throughout my childhood. I played so many games with those buttons. I sorted them by color or by size. I picked out my favorites time and time again, always changing.
I would try to find all of the buttons of a particular style or design. I learned to count with those buttons. As I grew up, married, and had my own daughter, I also began to sew, but try as I might I couldn’t seem to build a button collection like mom’s. I’m almost embarrased to say that I once even bought buttons from a big jar of buttons at a flea market to try to recreate that box of buttons, but it was never the same.
As mom became more and more frail and my own life became more busy, I asked less frequently for the buttons. Her sewing room began to gather dust and, finally, the sewing machine sat quiet and still. In her last few years, mom was confined to less active hobbies, and the button box became a sad reminder of those better times. However, I never forgot that they were there, waiting for mom to bestow them upon me that one final precious time.
It was a time I dreaded, but also knew would come and eventually, it did. I wonder as I sit on the floor today what my daughter will take the most pleasure in receiving from me. Will it be something I treasure myself or perhaps it might be an item that I have given little thought but holds special memories for her? Perhaps it is something that I already have, or more likely something that I’m yet to acquire. Another of the items I received when mom passed away was a glass curio cabinet. The cabinet means very little to me other than the fact that it is a beautiful piece of furniture and was something that both my parents were always proud of.
However, sitting inside that cabinet, in the most honored place in my home, are mom’s buttons .
. .
and my childhood. 
