I have never purchased a keychain in the shape of the Eiffel Tower. Nor a desktop replica of the Statue of Liberty. My feelings are my daily reminders of these favorite places. The French have it right — the word for memories is souvenirs. 

So I print out the photos of all this emotion. As I show them, I tell of the places. No Eiffel Tower in the shot, but look at my stride, of course it’s Paris. No visible evidence of Mardi, nor Gras, but look at our smiles, almost musical, it has to be New Orleans. Nothing purchased, the riches remain.

I was lucky enough to learn it as a child — and hurray, I say, to everyone who makes it through. You couldn’t have told me then. No, those chubby hands of mine wanted to cling to it all as we lost our home. But what about, and this… No clinging to chest could save it. No apartment could hold it. But once the grabbing subsided. The desperation released. And I did have everything. Every laughter. Every tear. Every lap of my mother’s embrace, and I was home. Every souvenir in heart. Nothing real could be taken away.

So no, I don’t own a replica of the Eiffel Tower, but look, just look at my face — I have everything.