Her spare house keys are still in my kitchen drawer along with her faded pink stationery edged with green swirls. I keep a package of her large eyed needles in my sewing basket. My grandmother died almost eleven years ago and even while I’m paring down the excess stuff in my house, it’s hard to toss the simple items of someone else’s life into the trash compactor. Harder still is to figure out what to do with her hand knit dresses and coats. On the day my mother and I moved my grandmother to a nursing home, she handed me her house keys, just in case she wanted to go home. Knowing that in her late 90’s she wouldn’t be going home, I helped clear out her apartment. In her nightstand, I found the list of state capitols that my son, Aron had written for her when he was in second grade. In her bathroom, I found a white hand towel embroidered with the letter “E”. She enjoyed the fact that we shared the same last name. Coincidentally my grandmother’s family and my husband’s have identical last names. So I inherited everything with “E” initials: linen napkins, silver candleholders and napkin rings.
My sister-in-law, Barbara is clearing out my in-laws’ Florida condominium. My mother-in-law has been gone twelve years; my father-in-law just a few weeks. Barbara e-mails that it’s hard to throw away the buttons, the pins, and the old addresses because these are the basic things that constitute a life. There may be some items of financial value such as Chinese teapots, screens and urns, but a copy of “Cooking In the Nude” (my mother-in-law believed in the importance of happiness in the bedroom) is priceless. The worn chess table that toddler Aron used for games of pretend chess with his sister, Jess also has a special place in our memories.
I am looking around my own house and wondering what things my children would figure are significant for me. They already take note of the myriad of photo albums and framed pictures, as well as the bursting bookshelves. Inside an upstairs closet are boxes containing sweaters, vests and coats that my grandmother knit for each of them. My grandsons have already worn some of these sweaters.
In my dining room, I examine the engraved candleholders. They are a bit dented and tarnished, but a touch of polish will brighten them. While I am guessing that my daughter-in-law to be will keep her name in the professional arena, she and my son have a home where the “E” initial makes sense. Somewhere in the buffet drawer is my grandmother’s cake cutter. I can visualize my son and his new wife using it to slice their wedding cake in the fall.
By entrusting me with her house keys, my grandmother was suggesting the central role of home. From experiencing meals at her holiday table and spending school vacation days in her kitchen, I learned to create a warm environment where the new members of our expanding family feel welcome. It is not the items of monetary value that teach us lessons about a person’s life, but the stuff that is emotionally charged and sentimental enough to pass on as cherished mementos.
