Grammy's Last Gift

   I ran down the flight of creaky cellar steps behind my grandmother and  followed her to a stack of white totes. Six or eight in all, they held all of my great-grandparents' earthly possessions.  The lid to the first tote was pulled off--documents and papers filled it. The lid of another tote was opened--on top lay a purse. Grammy's purse. Once unzipped, fragments  of a life were unearthed--a tissue holder. A hairbrush, with strands of hair still in it. I kept the purse; that black purse with white daisies, which had been given to Grammy by a friend. Later, when I unzipped the outside pocket, I found some coffee sweetener, and beside it, a bag of hardened sugar.

  Another tote was opened--and inside of it, Grandma found a shopping bag. "Oh, Grammy wanted you to have this," she said. It was filled with various balls of yarn, some crocheting hooks, and a couple of unfinished projects. "I had forgotten all about it."

  Other things Grammy had made were in this tote--doilies and dresser scarves. I picked out a few for my sister and me to keep and treasure. One of those dresser scarves now graces the top of my own dresser.

There's not a doily that I use in my room right now that wasn't made by Grammy; how many hours of work she must've put into them! How her fingers, now so still, must have flown!

 

   I wish I had gotten to know the young Grammy--the cooking and crocheting Grammy. The Grammy who could drive instead of being driven. The Grammy who could walk unaided instead of using a walker or a wheelchair. The Grammy who bought us gifts instead of having to give what she had or what was bought for her to give to us.

  But I'm also thankful I got to know the older Grammy--the Grammy who gave me money, but not until I let her give me a kiss. The Grammy  who always said on the phone, "When are you coming to visit? I miss you!" The Grammy who always had a smile for me, who pronounced my name with three syllables instead of its usual two, the Grammy who loved me even when we moved hundreds of miles away.

  And as I finger that yarn, or that intricately-crafted doily, or carry her purse, I smile and remember.