Visiting would not be the same, of course. The last time I was there was for my grandmother's funeral. But I wasn't there at Christmas to pack up her things. And I haven't been back to stay in a hotel.
Yesterday I took out a glass of hers. One that I kept from her home after she was gone. I gently touched the edge, it felt so delicate. And I remember telling myself, Be careful, Christine. You would be so sad if this broke. And I was. Careful to slide an ice cube in, to set it far away from the girls' wobbly reach.
It sat in the sink over night, and today while I was putting away a pile of clean dishes, a bowl fell. It broke the glass.
I am disappointed and a little sad. But I know the things that I have of hers, while precious, are not what I need. They will not bring her back to life. They will not pay for a family trip to show my daughters my birth city. They will not make my memories stronger.
But, it does almost feel like I let her down. Or a memory was almost lost. Which is why I can't bring myself to throw the broken glass away.
This pull between the logical "it's just stuff" and the emotional "it's a part of us" is what I struggle with.
Even though glasses and necklaces and dishes are just things, I struggle with remembering this and instead feeling like they are a part of me. A part of my grandmother. A part of our past.
Sometimes, it's just hard to say goodbye. Even to a broken old glass.
Linking up with Heather and Elaine.