“Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.” – Kurt Vonnegut
“Everything I wanted to get you was too expensive”, my son said.
“Oh?”, I inquired.
“Yeah, like there was this one thing. A necklace. But it was $159.99 and Dad said that was expensive”, he said with a frustrated tone.
“Aww. That’s sweet of you but yeah, that is a little expensive. But I love the one you got me. It’s very unique. I don’t have anything like it”, I assured him.
“But I really wanted this other one. It had a big amber stone in it and I knew you would love it because of that”, he says.
I start to choke up.
My son. My son.
Tears start to well in my eyes and I look over at him. He is staring out the car window with a strange look on his face.
“I just wanted to get you THAT one but Dad wouldn’t let me.”, he ends with a sad disappointed note.
Amber is (was) my daughter’s birth name. For years before finding her, I collected amber jewelry. Not only did I like the stone, but yeah, it was a symbolic homage to her. Since finding her I have stopped purchasing it but I still have a decent collection and cannot help but think of her whenever I wear it.
My son wanted to get me a birthday present that made me, and him, think of and honor his lost sister. His thought, his sensitivity, is far more valuable and cherished to me than the necklace he wanted to purchase.
A necklace can be lost, stolen, broken. Having a thoughtful, loving, sensitive nine year old son who acknowledges his mothers adoption trauma and related grief is priceless.