A long time ago, in a far away land called Boston, I was hypnotized by the beautiful chiming of my grandmother's grandmother clock (smaller than a grandfather).
Nana always told me that when she passed away, this clock would be mine. She's still with us, technically, but her mind has left. The phone number to her nursing home is written on a post-it note by my desk. I look at it often; feel guilty; feel the need to talk to her; remember how last time she kept asking about my grandfather (who's been gone since 1999), remember how it ended with her abruptly handing the phone back to the nurse and me crying; I don't call, for selfish reasons.
When Dad last went up to visit, he took this clock from storage, wrapped it to sustain a nuclear explosion, and shipped it to Indiana. I love it. It's filled with memories. It fits perfectly in the corner of our dining room. I only wish Nana could make the trip out here to see it in person.
3 comments:
it's beautiful! what a sweet, sweet gift. miss you, friend!
You made me cry! I don't think that Nana 'really' knows if you are calling or not - try not to feel too guilty. On a lighter note, when I saw the first picture, I just KNEW it was something your Dad had wrapped :) You will think of it's history every time it chimes.....I love you.
You're making me cry, too!
We just lost Dan's grandmother to alzheimer's -- and he had similar feelings about her (wanting to share things with her that she couldn't understand anymore).
What a nice thing to have at your house. :)
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