Memories of things

This area in my home is peppered with my grandparents’ pieces + my son’s artwork.

When you’re a child…walking, skipping, running and playing your way through your grandparents’ home, you don’t imagine things like the hutch that holds their china and glass birds, the ship paintings on their wall, and the iron Boston Terrier holding various doors back would one day — find a home in your home.

When my grandfather passed on Christmas Day last year, and my grandmother was moving to a nursing facility, their belongings were carefully, lovingly and painfully discussed amongst my family. I felt weird about it all. At first, I said I didn’t want anything, because what I wanted — was them. Together. I wanted time to rewind and I wanted more of it. Because things are just things. Then, I remembered a poem I wrote for my great-grandmother’s passing, which I read at her funeral when I was just 16 years old. I had called it Things Our Memories Hold — and it was about her large bookshelf that was filled with knick-knacks. I would be bold enough to ask for something each time we visited. It wasn’t about getting something, for me. It was about climbing onto her lap, breathing in her sweet scent, whispering into her ear to ask, and seeing my great-grandfather smiling out of the corner of my eye as I did. Of course, I would cherish whatever little gift she would place in my hands — and all of our memories of the day seemed to be wrapped up in it.

The hutch.

So, I called my mom, and told her I had changed my mind. I told her I still felt superficial, and sad, and afraid to ask for anything. She told me she already set things aside that she knew my grandparents would want me to have — no, to take care of, give life to, and enjoy. When she put it that way, it made me feel better about “things.”

When those things came into my home, and I hung them, decorated them, ran my hands over them and carefully handled them — I cried, laughed, exhaled and smiled. I had forgotten how it seems energy is attached to things. And, the energy that these pieces brought into my home is so strong, so full of love, happiness and warmth — oh, the warmth!

Now, I look at the ship paintings and vintage doorstop made of iron, and I feel the strength of my grandfather. And, after years of watching my grandmother change up her hutch decor for the approaching season and/or holiday, it’ll be me trying to do it the way she did.

I had just finished putting the last plate on the hutch, and turned the porcelain cardinal to face the window when my son ran into the room smiling sooo wide about something. He stopped to look at what I was doing and then exclaimed, “Wow!” as my mom walked into my house and gave him the biggest hug. She looked at the hutch, and the happy tears in my eyes.

“It’s just how your grandmother did it” she said. And, I know she wasn’t just talking about the hutch, as she snuggled her grandson close. I know that I’ll always do my best to make everyone in my home feel the way I did growing up — happy, treasured, loved and full of laughter.

That’s the best, most important thing anyone can ever inherit.