Visiting my sister’s house is always such a fun and activity-filled vacation. We always do so many fun things. We sew, we craft, we laugh, we eat yummy food and rarely sleep beyond a slight nap between days, we cram our time with so many fun things! But this was the first time we have ever went through her keepsake box. What a treasure this time was.

It was interesting to see the things that belonged to my mother. Casual daily things or even the little glass owl that I recognized but couldn’t quite place. My mother died 39 years ago, when I was five years old. I have always deeply struggled with the loss of my mother, the missing portion of my life that has always been so loud. I have very few memories of her, yet I have recounted them dozens of times over the years, seeking new meaning, trying to make new sense of the short part of my life that she was present for.

As we went through all my sister’s treasures, we found so many little items that offered a glimpse into a life that existed so many years ago. A bit of a time travel journey through the memories and experiences of the past. It’s always so interesting to revisit those times with the new outlooks that age and experience gifts us with. But some things also simply remain the same.

My sister casually handed me a small pink tube. As I reached out to see what it was, her words were so simple “Look, it’s mom’s lipstick.” It was such an odd feeling, holding this little item that is so deeply connected to one of few memories from so long ago.

I was quickly transported back to a day I was probably about four, sitting on the bathroom counter while my mother got ready to go where I have always assumed to be to dinner. As she put on her lipstick, I remember wanting to be like her, wanting to do what she did, and I asked if I could wear some. She leaned over and put two small dots of the prettiest pink lipstick on my bottom lip and showed me how to “rub and smack” my lips … you know…to evenly blend my lipstick and be as beautiful as she was. Because in that moment, I knew I was now quite stunning. I copied her technique and quickly turned to the mirror to see my new beautiful self. But I quickly realized that my lipstick was not nearly as noticeable as hers, in fact it was barely noticeable at all. Naturally, I requested more, so I could be the same as her, to be as beautiful as her… because without it, I was not. Although I fully expected my mother to understand the importance of my request for more lipstick, it was declined.

I was simply trying to be as beautiful as my mother, yet the practicalities of life couldn’t allow me enough lipstick to be that beautiful … without potentially ruining drapes, couch cushions or any number of other things I may have unknowingly covered in that pretty pink lipstick. But on this day, in my heart, I just simply didn’t get enough. I only got a little bit.

I have always wondered why I even remember this day with the lipstick. What was it about this moment that made it stick for 40 years? But sitting on my sister’s floor holding this small pink tube shed some light on why it stuck. Because it wasn’t just about not getting enough lipstick, it was really about not getting enough of my mother. My little lips were ever so slightly colored with that pretty pink lipstick in the same way my little life got such a slight sprinkling of my mother’s presence. The truth is, I simply didn’t get enough of either. And somehow that contributed to the idea that I myself was not enough.

Holding that pretty pink lipstick tied my today-self to my four-year-old self and somehow healed something. It’s as if mom was silently showing me that I was beautiful enough with how much lipstick she had given me. In the same way, the sprinkling of mom’s presence in my life was also enough. In a way, I am my mother now, and I get to choose how much is enough.

What I have come to realize is that the lipstick was in fact enough. It really was all I could have, and my mom knew that. You certainly can’t release a 4 year old with lips fully armed with that much staining power into your house. At the same time, the amount of time I had my mother in my life was also enough because it’s all I could have, and God knew that. Sometimes we simply don’t get to choose how much is enough. That’s not how life works.

I have always seen the side of that memory as what I didn’t get and how I was not enough without it. But I overlooked that my mom shared her lipstick…. the prettiest pink lipstick in the world…with me. And I got to spend this moment with her, and I even get to remember it.

This is in fact a good memory. This was my mom shining her light and I got to stand in it, although very briefly, I still stood there. And the more I look at that, the more I appreciate this moment with her.

They say practicing gratitude makes what you have feel like enough. I know this to be true. I also know being grateful in the depths of loss can be incredibly difficult if not impossible at times. Yet if we can find a way to do it, we heal and we grow. And we realize that not only do we have enough, but we also are in fact enough.