Fluffy Yellow Bath Towels
Her shelves were full
of small, worn bath towels.
I gave her large fluffy yellow towels,
the kind I love to use.
When next I visited
her shelves were full of thin, worn bath towels,
the yellow towels absent from her shelves
and my memory.
Times change.
Dad left this world.
She became older and more fragile.
So, we moved her into that room,
the fourth bedroom that had been essential
when we bought our house,
the room that might sometime be needed
for just this necessity.
I helped with her shower.
“The towels are too big, too heavy,”
she told me.
I looked at her thin arms,
remembering that she always wanted
a small fork,
a little glass,
a small pan.
Simple tasks were hard for her now.
I went shopping.
The world had moved beyond her needs.
The shelves in each store were full
of large, fluffy bath towels.
I frequented thrift stores and garage sales,
found the smaller, thinner bath towel
that were lighter for her delicate hands to hold.
Times change. I let go of her hand.
Her spirit left her frail shell behind.
The time came to let go of her belongings,
to empty out her home.
I found the yellow fluffy bath towels,
used as padding beneath her fitted sheet
to make the hard mattress of the hospital bed
more comfortable for Dad and then for her.
And I wondered
how many times did I give the gift
I wanted to give
Instead of
the gift she wanted to receive.
Copyright 2017 Rose Owens
There is an art to gift giving. The obvious method is to ask someone what they want or check their wish list on Amazon or ask someone else what this other person might want. But the ultimate in gift giving is the art of observing, learning to know the other person’s likes and interests. This enables the giver to give the gift that someone didn’t know they wanted—but are delighted to receive. These gifts—often a gift from the heart that doesn’t require money–are the gifts that linger in memory for both the giver and the receiver.
I try to be that kind of giver, but do not always succeed.