Yesterday was Christmas, and I enjoyed a peaceful day with my family. I’ve always had a soft spot for sentimental gifts. Those are the kind of gifts that mean something more than just the day itself.
We had some of the home movies digitally converted from our family’s old video camera. My mom put them on a flash drive and gave them as a gift a couple of years ago.
I am glad to have those videos saved on my Google account. I love seeing the videos of time spent with my aunts, my younger sister, my moms, my uncles, and my grandparents. I particularly enjoy seeing videos of family members who have passed away.
I love receiving cards. My cousin’s handmade cards mean the world to me because they were made with so much care. Those cards are the things I like to turn to on bad days. Those cards have reminded me that I am loved and that someone took the time to write about it.
One of the most cherished presents I have ever received is the piggy bank that my grandmother had been saving for me since I was a child. This bank would sit on a shelf in the spare bedroom at her house in a row with all the banks she had set aside for her grandchildren. Each time I would visit her, I would look at them all and wonder what it would be like to find out how much was inside.
When I received mine, I cried. I understood that it was more than a piggy bank. It represented years of her savings. Every cent was put away with love.
That piggy bank represents more than just a place to store money. It is a symbol of my grandmother’s love. Every time, I look at it, I feel her love.
Now, as an adult, I find myself returning to that piggy bank more often than I ever expected. I don’t shake it or wonder what’s inside anymore. Instead, I look at it the way you would look at an old photograph-something that holds a moment in time, a feeling you can step back into whenever you need it. It reminds me that love isn’t always loud or showy; sometimes it’s quiet, tucked away in small gestures, saved up over years in ways you don’t fully understand until much later.
All the sentimental gifts I’ve kept—those home videos, the handmade cards, the little notes—feel connected to that same thread. They’re reminders that the people in my life have always found their own ways to say “I love you,” even when the words weren’t spoken out loud. The piggy bank is just one example, a symbol of a love that was steady, patient, and intentional.
I display it on my shelf, not for the value of money once inside, but for the meaning it will always hold. I am reminded of my grandmother’s presence with every glance, her care, her quiet devotion. And in that small, simple object, I am reminded again and again that the most precious gifts are the ones that stay with us long after the wrapping paper is gone-the ones that shape us, comfort us, and remind us we were loved deeply, long before we knew to look for it.