My Name Is Jimmy and I’m thirty-six. All my childhood I was tormented by one memory — my mother’s old coat.
It was dark gray, woolen, worn at the elbows, with peeling cuffs and buttons that had obviously been sewn on over the years. It looked tired, as if it had lived a lifetime.
When I was fourteen, I asked my mother to drop me off a block before school so that no one would see her in that coat. She just smiled gently and said that the main thing was that it held out the cold. I promised myself then that one day I would buy her something decent.
When I got my first serious job as an architect, I finally did it. I bought her an expensive, elegant cashmere coat, the kind that makes a person look successful and confident. Mom was really happy, hugged me tightly and carefully hung the gift in the closet.
And in the morning I left the house again in the old one.
We have argued about this many times. I tried to convince her that times had changed, that we were no longer in trouble. She listened and nodded, but each time she answered the same thing: she could not throw it away. I never explained why.
She worked in a flower shop and loved her job. She said that flowers are the only beauty that does not try to look beautiful. And she wore that coat every day.
This continued until her death.
Mom left suddenly, at the age of sixty, on a cold February morning. Doctors said regular checkups can make all the difference. I called her every night, visited her on weekends and convinced myself that it was enough.
After the funeral, I went to her apartment to pack my things. There was an unusual silence. The coat was hanging on the hanger by the door, as if she had only gone out for a minute and would soon be back.
I let him off the hook almost in annoyance. I just wanted to get rid of him once and for all.
But suddenly I felt something heavy in my pocket.
Inside were neatly folded envelopes, old receipts, photographs and notes. Some were addressed to me-in different years of my life. Money for my studies. Receipts for medicines. The small amounts she saved to help me when I had a hard time.
She saved on herself-literally on everything.
In the other pocket I found a small bag of jewelry and a note.”For your wedding. I hope I will live to see it.”
I sank to the floor and cried. For the first time since her death.
She was not wearing this coat because she could not afford a new one. She always chose me.
And at that moment I realized that the most valuable thing in my life was not what I could buy her, but what she quietly gave me, without demanding anything in return.
Now this coat is hanging at my house. I never throw it away.
Because it contains all her love.
