Memories and Possessions

Even though I moved here in May, I'm still dealing with a few boxes and things that haven't been touched, mostly because I knew they were mostly full of winter clothes. This morning, I tackled a box in our office, mostly because Pros begged me to clean up in there. Sure enough, there were plenty of skirts and tops for cooler weather, unfortunately mixed in with summer clothing I hadn't been able to find. I shook out the cat hair and dust as I arranged them into piles for hanging, storage and donation to the Salvation Army truck.

In this box were also two petit-pointe (like embroidery) angel wall hangings that had been given to me by my grandmother as well as two sweatshirts she had decorated with my sorority letters when I had first pledged. I had to laugh when I saw the sweatshirts. The letters were far larger than the standard ones worn, and I had initially been very peeved at their appearance. I wore the hot pink sweatshirt with the too-tall letters for our first Bid Day and stood out even more than I would have if I'd kept my bright purple hair, but I don't think I wore them again. Because they have the letters of my sorority, I couldn't throw them in the pile for donation.

Then I thought of how I'd also been upset when I had received the wall hangings. Two angels, in the act of carrying children to Heaven, wouldn't normally be something I would have wanted. They had been in my bedroom when I briefly lived with my grandparents, and I had been told they were made by my grandmother's grandmother. I had asked for them as a wedding gift. Instead, she gave them to me when I graduated from college. At that time, my unmarried state was a source of tension between us. My older cousin had married young and already had two sons, and I was not meant to settle down for another decade. To me, this early gifting was her way of telling me that I'd be a spinster. It took time before I placed these beautiful pieces of art on my wall.

My grandmother is still alive, but she isn't really with us anymore. Right before my 30th birthday, she asked me if my party was also an engagement party. Between our long-standing tension about my marital state and the unwillingness of my then boyfriend to commit, I had exploded and almost uninvited her to the gathering. That was when I found out that she wasn't being cruel, but that she was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's Disease. Within another year, she admitted that she knew I was a familiar face, but that she could not fathom that I was the adult daughter of her younger son. This week, my grandfather was faced with the painful prospect of placing her in a facility that can care for her now that he cannot.

Alice was a beautiful, vivacious redheaded woman. She was an expert with flowers, especially orchids, and could name any bloom placed before her. Her sense of humor was one that didn't surface often, but would strike out at the most perfectly timed moment. Her light blue eyes would sparkle over family dinners and bridge matches with her friends. She taught me that to truly love someone, "you must hold them with an open hand", even if you're terrified you might lose them.

Gramma, my hands are open, and I know you are slipping away. You'll never know what a wonderful husband-to-be I have found. With luck, he'll understand why I must hang my angels before today is done.