My grandmother recently passed away and I managed to acquire some of her things, through one avenue or another. She had five children and each of them got an equal share of her belongings. After most of the items were selected, one of my sisters and I managed to get a few boxes to put away as heirlooms. Some of the children tried to gather the things, while others just sold them or gave them away. All I know is that I tried to collect as much of my family history as I could, neglecting the items of value for the ones of sentiment.

In the end there really wasn't much to squabble over, just a very few dusty items and a number of boxes of junk and magazines. She didn't own a home and didn't have much that she wouldn't give away if someone asked for it. She was constantly giving things away and loaning money that she didn't have. Some paid her back and some did not. I have one sister who is like that and another who is like me. I suppose that some must collect what others throw away.

In the few items I managed to get, one thing I picked up was my great grandfather's straight razor. I don't plan to shave with it anytime soon, as I would probably lose more blood than whiskers. I found it buried in a box of broken things and junk mail.

The grandmother who died was my mother's mother. Well, my mother is about as sentimental as a rock. When asked what she wanted, she noted that she didn't really want any of 'that junk." She isn't really as tough as she would have others believe, though. She was affected by her mother's death, but was only interested in photographs and memories. I am somewhat like her, inasmuch as I don't place overt sentimentality upon inanimate objects. On the other hand, being able to hold my great grandfather's straight razor certainly gives me a connection to him that I might not otherwise have. Since I know so little about him, I must use what little I have and fill in the blanks with my imagination. I do know that his name was Billy Joe Matkins and he ran a produce horse and wagon to Fries, Va. He sold garden items and fruits by the pound, using large and small spring-tension scales. I have one of his small sets of scales, while my uncle has a larger set.

I also have a set of green dishes that my great grandmother used. They aren't very appealing with their smashed-pea color, but the memories that they bring back of her are appealing enough to make up for it. I was very fond of my grandmother, you might say she was a tough old gal. She was divorced back in the 1950s at a time when it was not socially acceptable. She worked at the cotton mill and grew a large garden to care for her six children, without assistance of any kind from anyone.

She left her marriage because she said her husband was the laziest man alive. I will let history be the judge.

I remember my mother telling me that my grandmother "pulled doubles" a lot. Not knowing anything about work and shifts as a lad, I had this picture in my head of her towing two ropes with crates hooked to them. I thought that doubles would be at least twice as heavy as singles. While I am painting a picture of a very stark and pragmatic woman, that isn't the whole picture.

On the other hand, she was also very taken with the idea of winning a contest of some sort. When she passed away, a good portion of her legacy contained letters stating "You may have already won a million," or "Register now for a trip to Palm Springs." She entered every contest coming and going, often adding on magazine subscriptions just to increase her odds. As far as I know, she never won a single cent.

My grandmother worked all of her life, even until the age of 70 something, "Taking care of old people." She would sit with those who were disabled or mentally infirm and cook and clean for them to make her living. Some of the people she took care of were younger than her. I think her greatest joy was cooking and being surrounded by her family.

I can remember times when she would cook enough food for an army when only two or three of us were there to eat it. After being basically healthy all her life, she had a debilitating stroke that left her paralyzed on one side of her body. She also had a heart condition. She started having a hard time remembering words, like calling a calendar a refrigerator and getting angry when we didn't understand. She spent the last years of her life living with family and then in the nursing home. Sometimes it bothers me that I didn't visit her very much during her last days in the nursing home. It was just that I didn't really want to remember her as the person she had become, but instead I wanted to remember her for the person she once was. It was hard to see such a strong and independent woman in such a miserable and compromising condition. In the end, I truly believe that is what took her life. Now and then it bothers me, I don't think I made the right choice. I suppose we all make bad choices, but I hope that I at least have the sense to learn from my errors. I can't take that one back.

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