This past Tuesday, my family got together and made decisions about who would get what was left of my grandfather’s possessions. At his funeral, my aunt told me that she had my grandmother’s old typewriter and that it was her wish that I have it. She felt that because I was the writer of the family, like grandma, that I would like that. I was excited and so, so honored. On Tuesday, I finally got to see it and take it home.
This typewriter is filled with history. It’s a 1926 Smith Corona. It’s in pretty good condition considering its age. But, wow — my beloved grandmother used to type her newspaper columns on it, as well as my aunt and my dad’s school papers. Her fingers touched the keys. She created using it. I can almost feel her spirit imprinted on it if I focus enough. I’ve always believed that her spirit is still very much alive (I have proof — but that’s another story for another day) and still with us. And I feel even closer to her now. When she passed, I was 11, and I got a few things that were hers. The biggest thing was her old dresser which is at least 70 years old. It sits in our bedroom to this day. It’s survived several moves now. My father refinished it some time ago, so it’s more brown than the original mahogany. But it’s beautiful and I cherish it. Every time I moved (which was 3 times), I took special care to make sure it was protected and safe.
At our little get together, I received some of grandpa’s medals and a bit of jewelry (including one of his wedding rings), as well as a book and some of his foreign money from when he was in the service. These things may not mean much to someone, but to me they are so important. I went there with the intention of getting one medal — it was important to me to have a piece of his history, especially from his time in the service. I ended up getting more than that, and I’m thrilled to have them.
The wedding ring was actually from his second marriage. While it’s not from his marriage to my beloved grandmother, I still treasure the ring because it was his, and for a brief period of time, part of him.
My aunt said it best: these things are part of our family’s history. They are tangible, pieces taken from time. They are places we used to go; roads we walked. They are objects, but they are priceless and infinitely precious. They are what we have left after our loved ones have gone.
There was a time in our past where we were estranged. I’m not going to go into detail for privacy reasons, but I will say this: while grandpa’s death was devastating, it brought us back together again. It was his wish that we would get back together, and I think his wish came true. When I saw my aunt’s house for the first time since I was 16 (for those keeping track, that’s about 19 years ago), I was amazed at how different it looked, but also how much the same. I still remember the piano she had in her living room and their Commodore computer in the dining room. I can picture each room vividly. I can picture the backyard and even the street. I was the one that found her house without using her address. I’d done it from memory.
I remember riding bikes there and this big incline made of cement and the tree that sat on each side. I remember 4th of July fireworks so many moons ago. I remember Christmas and our Christmas Eve tradition of stocking stuffers. I remember so much, and yet it feels like no time has passed. I almost felt as if the past 19 years didn’t happen — except that we’re all grown up. My cousins have five kids between them. My youngest cousin, who was a baby when we were estranged, is now in college. I mean, wow. Time has passed.
I think this is a new era in our family history. I believe that we’ll continue to get together and be the family we once were. I also believe that there’s more to come. After all, we have the next generation that will carry on.
Family is precious. I was raised with that belief, and I continue to hold family precious above all else. For who am I without my family? Without our history and legacy? Without roots? I can’t even comprehend a life without my family, without that love and belonging and shared past. I explore this idea a lot in my writing, and it’s something that fascinates me. But it also comforts me and gives me a place to return to center. To heal when I’m hurt and to rejoice when good things happen. To not be alone; to be filled to brimming with love, hope, and yes, history. It’s imprinted in my soul. I will cherish it forever and beyond.