Letting Go of Grandma's Lace

My grandma passed away about a year ago, at almost ninty years old. I helped my parents to clean out her house, which had been standing unused for about eight years. All the treasures of her life were there just as she had left them, and we spent many hours sorting her life's possessions into piles to give away, throw away, sell and keep.

Since I sell a lot on ebay, I put some of the items aside to sell for my parents, hoping they could get more for them on-line than they could at a yard sale. I have sold several of grandma's possessions, and while I thought of her as I packaged each one up to send it on its way, nothing affected me in the same way as packaging up her old handmade lace.

As I folded each white and pink crocheted strand of lace, I imagined it in her fingers. My fingers were touching her handiwork, and somehow it made me feel very close to her. I imagined the hours she had spent crocheting the many yards of lace, and wondered why she had never used them in one of her many sewing projects. I did not want to let go of the lace, as if letting go of what she had created was somehow letting go of her. It was one final moment with her, one last connection, and I was shipping it off to a place far away. I felt like I was shipping off a part of Grandma herself.

I think I will always remember that lace. The way it felt against my fingers as I folded it, the smell of Grandma's house still upon it, and the memories and feelings it evoked. Yes, it was hard letting go of Grandma's lace.