By Vincent O’Keefe
@VincentAOKeefe

It has been nearly three decades since my mother-in-law, Josephine, died suddenly in a tragic car accident. Fortunately, in the years before she passed, I got to know her well while courting one of her daughters (and my future wife), Michele, back in college. What I continue to grieve but also cherish about Josephine is her legacy of care, which she demonstrated in a variety of ways—most notably, her near-obsession with holiday gift-giving.

Early in my relationship with my wife, I made a troubling discovery: my future mother-in-law stashed potential gifts and cards in her basement. Whenever an unexpected guest would arrive (especially around Christmas), Josephine would find an opportunity to descend into her lair and return with a wrapped and labeled goodie—perhaps a candle, lotion, or tie—for an unsuspecting but pleased visitor.

When I first discovered Josephine’s practice, I was twenty years old and aghast. How could someone be so impersonal in their gift-giving? Talk about a thought that doesn’t count was my thought at the time.

Looking back, however, I was in no position to judge, for I was a terrible gift-giver in those days. For our first Christmas, I brought my wife’s parents a bottle of champagne and—brace yourself—a Chia Head. That’s right, a Chia Head that they were supposed to water and watch grow. And I did that without an apology. Don’t think I’ve been allowed to forget that gaffe.

Over the years, I have come to appreciate the more subtle meanings of my mother-in-law’s stash, which my wife and I affectionately dubbed “the boutique.” As I watched the delight on Josephine’s face whenever she gave someone a present, I learned that gift-giving is not merely an obligation but a joy of life.

The most poignant example occurred on the Christmas after my wife and I had been dating for two years. The family has always called it the “Big Christmas,” for a fender-bender had resulted in a few thousand dollars of insurance money for Josephine. Not surprisingly, she spent nearly all the money on an enormous display of sweaters, shirts, and skirts for her family.

On Christmas that year, as my Josephine’s three daughters finished opening their mountains of gifts, there was nowhere to rest my eyes but on all the empty boxes near my modest pile of gifts. (I was not an “in-law” yet.) Before I could avert my eyes from the spectacle, Josephine interpreted my gaze as envy and scampered down to the basement. She returned with a shirt box showing no signs of hasty wrapping—she was a pro—and handed it to me with glee. I knew from where it came, but I couldn’t bear to dim the gleam in her eyes in that defining moment. So I smiled as wide as I could while holding up the brown, gender-neutral, one-size-fits-most sweatshirt that was in the box.

Beyond Josephine’s impish joy as a gift-giver, there was also a practical reason for her boutique: she did not drive. In those days before on-line shopping, a trip to a store could not be taken for granted, especially with three daughters at home and a husband who worked long hours. In a devastating, ironic twist, a few years after that Christmas Josephine finally decided to learn how to drive and get her license—at age sixty. But less than three months after earning her license, she was a passenger in the car accident that took her life. While it is a cliché to say that every day is a gift, there is also much truth in every cliché.

Fittingly, the legacy of my mother-in-law’s gift-giving re-emerged a few years after her passing when my wife and I started a family and gradually established a boutique of our own. Granted, we usually tried to personalize gifts, but the boutique was helpful when a present was needed on short notice. As a stay-at-home dad of two daughters back then, I found the boutique a great stress-reducer during those years of frequent birthday parties and torturous holiday shopping trips. Each time I visited my stash—sometimes wearing that brown sweatshirt—I would think of Josephine’s legacy of giving and smile at her wisdom.

Recently, my wife and I cleaned out the basement of the house where my father-in-law, Frank, continued to live on his own for many years after my mother-in-law’s death. One of our cherished discoveries in a deep corner of the basement was a box of bows, wrapping paper, and tissue paper no doubt compiled by Josephine for future holiday gift-giving. While it was bittersweet to see some of her handwriting on items in the box, we are so appreciative that we can still use some of her supplies. Each time we do, we continue her multi-decade legacy of gift-giving.

Vincent O’Keefe is a writer and former stay-at-home father with a PhD in American literature. He and his wife, Michele, have two daughters and have been together for 36 years (married for 30). His mother-in-law, Josephine, was at their wedding but unfortunately passed a few years before the arrival of her grandchildren. See more of his work at www.vincentokeefe.com.

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