My most memorable present is one that I cannot even entirely remember the origin of. I was probably about 11 or 12, and I opened a simple box. Inside, there was an inch of pearls.

I was confused, but my aunt explained to me that this was the first inch of pearls I would be receiving, and when they were all put together, I would have a full string of pearls to wear. I admit, I still was probably not that thrilled. After all, my brother was getting a Toys R Us gift card.

I did not understand back then that these pearls were something so precious. Pearls may not be so common for young girls to have now, but they used to be something classic and sophisticated (I argue they still are), and women wore them pretty often. I looked back at old photos and saw pearls around my mom's neck in her senior portrait, around the necks of countless women in beautiful dresses from the 50s. They meant growing up and being a lady. I swore I would wear my pearls in my yearbook photo senior year. I'd wear them to prom. I'd wear them all the time.

I did not end up with those pearls around my neck out of forgetting them in my mom's car. They were too perfect to go to prom with me, and I'm sort of glad they didn't because I danced so much I broke my necklace at prom, anyway.

I'm even gladder they are safe in their box right now.

I lost my aunt last year a little bit before Christmas. She had been sick for a long time, but she never forgot to give me an inch of pearls for every birthday and Christmas with a big hug. Her smile never faded, and even if I was expecting the pearls after a while, she still seemed so happy to gift me something she knew I could admire all of my life.

I still have not worn the pearls, and I have a feeling I won't until sometime really special. Sometimes I open the box, forgetting what is inside and looking for something else. Seeing them reminds me of my aunt, and it's bittersweet. I remember her so vividly sometimes. She loved me so much, and I didn't see her as much as I should have. Even so, there's a rush of warmth I feel opening that black box. Some might say it's a coincidence, but I know it isn't. My aunt Anita is smiling down at me.

I do not have a lot of things I received when I was young. After all, I grew up. But I am always going to have my aunt's present and every meaning I have put behind it.

They meant a pattern, of thinking of me enough to buy an inch of pearls from Bridgewater Jewelers from my aunt's best friend Mary and bring them to me, all wrapped up. It meant caring enough to take a present back years later to make sure the necklace got strung together properly. This gift meant committing to something. Pearls themselves mean to me now the combination of putting on a brave face, putting your best foot forward, and living your life, even when something really hard is going on. I mean, have you seen what women were doing for the world in the 50s? Or even today. Women are badass. So was my aunt.

To me, this gift meant that there was always going to be something I could have to be a piece of her and a piece of my own history. I remember sitting on my grandma's porch and opening this present, even if I cannot remember what age I was. I remember opening the last inch (because it turned out there was an extra, since we all thought there was a missing one) from a package in my sophomore dorm, right before my aunt passed away, with the phone case I had wanted since I kept breaking mine, and a note that said "just in case!" My aunt remembered to give me one more inch of pearls two months after my birthday when she was so sick we didn't know how long she had.

I am never going to forget that present, and for the life of me, I cannot find a good enough occasion to wear my pearls.