I know my grandmother only through her things. I have explicit memories from my childhood of staring up at the picture in the hallway of the beautiful bride laughing a toothy smile in her long white dress. There are characteristics about her like the shape of her face, the slight bump in her nose, her long brown hair, so dark that it is black on the old black and white photo, which she had passed to my mother and my mother had passed to me. I felt a sense of sorrow when I looked into her face, but very different than the sorrow at the loss of a loved one. When you lose someone you love, you reflect on your memories of them, but my grandmother died before I was born so I never had the chance to make any memories with her. Instead, I made my own memories with her through her things that were passed down my family to me.

I was about seven when my mom cleaned out the closet attached to her room that was used for storage. After finishing, she came up to my room and deposited two “gifts” on my dresser. She told me that they were very special and that I had to care for them. After I looked on the dresser to see what they were, she did not have to tell me twice.

They were two jewelry boxes. My mother’s was a flat wooden one about 10 inches long and 6 inches wide. On the top of the box there was a picture the silhouettes of two girls facing each other with the word “Friendship” written underneath. My Daw-daw’s jewelry box was much smaller, so small I am not sure if she ever really stored much jewelry in it. It is a circular metal box about 6 inches in diameter. It is a deep gray and has a little lid with a rose for the handle that reveals a small space where maybe a two or three necklaces could fit. It is also a music box. I turned the key on the bottom with my small fingers to play a slow song from the gears inside. The box smelled so deeply of brass that I tasted it in the back of my throat. Visions of the women in the photograph in hall slowly turning the key and dancing to the music the box played flowed through my mind as I hugged my mother tightly for entrusting me with something so precious.

I was thirteen the Christmas that I got a strange gift from my Aunt Charlene. After most of the presents had been presented and opened during our annual Christmas Eve party, Aunt Charlene told me that I had a special gift that she had to bring up from the basement. A few second later I was told to shut my eyes and something was placed in front on me. I opened my eyes and saw a mini rocking chair, wooden, but painted lavender with a small “S” on the top of the chair headboard. She explained that it had been my grandmother’s and that my mother, uncle and her had played with it when they were younger. I could suddenly imagine my mother, uncle and aunt arguing on who could use the rocking chair and my grandmother coming into the room to resolve the conflict.

Every night I walk up the stairs to my bedroom and I spot the small lavender rocking chair in the corner with an old stuffed animal on it. As I pass through the hallway, the smiling picture of my Daw-daw shines down on me. I walk pass my dresser, on which sits the little gray music box, before lying down on my bed.

When we die, we leave all the physical things that we acquired through life behind. Where do these things go? Most things get thrown away, a lot of things get sold and some things get passed down. But to me, it is not the physical objects that mean so much to me, but rather the people that have given me these things and the memories I have made through the objects. Through Daw-daw’s photos, jewelry box and rocking chair I have learned about my Daw-daw and with each thing given to me, I feel as though I am entrusted with keeping a part of her memory. All of Daw-daw’s things have been passed from hand to hand, from hands that Daw-daw loved, to hands that Daw-daw kissed, to my hands. Although I can not imagine how my life would be if my grandmother had not died so young, I can thank her for all the wonderful things she has given me.