They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
we will remember them.
During Christmas, when we were all gathered at my sister’s to open gifts, my mother’s best friend, whom I’ve always known as “Aunt Jeanna,” stopped by to see us all and to give us our gifts.
She had one for me, one for my sister, and one for my grandpa, who had driven from upstate New York with my grandma, Karen, to spend the holidays with us all.
One by one, we unwrapped the sweetest, most thoughtful gifts. My grandpa received a framed photograph of his daughter (my mother, of course) and his mother together. It was a photo none of us had seen before, one that my Aunt Jeanna had taken years and years ago.
My sister received a pair of my mother’s earrings – dream catchers with beautiful feathers. Like the photo, Aunt Jeanna had kept them safe and sound until it was time to pass them on to us.
For me was one of mom’s sweaters. I didn’t recognize it at first, but now the memories have started to flood, and I definitely do. Aunt Jeanna told me that mom would have worn it over a black tank top, and I replied that that’s exactly what I’d have done, too.
It fits me, though I’m not sure if it’s something I’ll wear. I’d hate to spill on it, stain it, or tear it, and I don’t have a great track record with sweaters. No, I think this is something for hanging and treasuring.
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