On her deathbed, my grandmother gave me a task that I couldn’t complete until Christmas. For months I waited, mourning her loss, and when the time finally came to grant her last wish, I realised what a precious person she was.
This is the story of how my grandmother made sure we would always remember her, and it just so happened to be on Christmas Day. My name is Nora, and last year, when I was 17 years old, my grandmother found herself bedridden.
It was clear she wasn’t going to get up again. Everyone understood that, but it was still hard. Whenever I came home from school, I stayed by her side and kept her company. I talked to her too, though most of the time I wasn’t sure she could hear me.
Mum often scolded me for spending so much time with Grandma instead of concentrating on my homework, but I couldn’t help it. Grandma hardly had any time left and my studies seemed insignificant.
On the last day of Grandma’s life, a wild thunderstorm raged outside. I was reading her a story from a book I needed to finish for school anyway, so Mum didn’t make me feel too bad about it.
Lightning struck loudly and horribly, and I stopped reading for a second to look out the window. When my gaze returned to the bed, I saw Grandma moving her hand and trying to speak.
‘Grandma!’ squeaked I.
‘Nora, come closer,’ she whispered, and her eyes focused on me. Bright ones. I thought she was miraculously feeling better, and excitedly joined her.
‘What is it, Grandma?’ I asked, leaning over to her with a wide smile.
She whispered something in my ear, which made me frown, but I nodded readily. She held up a finger and said: ‘REMEMBER.’
‘Yes, Grandma. Don’t worry,’ I promised, and my excitement subsided.
With those words, she closed her eyes, and half an hour later she was gone.
I spent the rest of the night sobbing in my mum’s arms. The subsequent preparations, funeral and everything else was agonising. But my aunt told me that my grandmother had lived a wonderful life and I should not be sad that she was gone, but happy that I had known her.
These were very helpful words that I took to heart to move on with my life, even if the concept of death and what it all means kept me up at night.
So I dove headfirst into my studies, friends and part-time job.
I tried to keep as busy as possible so I wouldn’t fall into an existential crisis. I even forgot about her last wish as the months flowed by unnoticed. It wasn’t until Christmas Eve that her words resurfaced in my mind again.
‘Remember,’ my grandmother said to me in a husky voice, ’the little china box in the attic. When I’m gone, bring it downstairs. But don’t open it until Christmas morning.’
I immediately went to the attic and started rummaging through the mess. My eyes were swollen shut and my nose was red from sneezing because of the dust, but I didn’t stop until I saw it.
It was hidden in the corner behind a stack of books. Its elegant cover was decorated with faded roses and frayed gold edges. I carefully picked it up and shook it a little to see what it had inside. But no sound followed.
The thought of it being empty made me want to open it even more, but I made a promise. So I put it on the nightstand and waited for Christmas morning, just like she wanted.
The next day I woke up at five in the morning and jumped out of bed to open it. Inside, on a bed of faded velvet, lay a small yellowed note, smelling faintly of lavender, just as my grandmother’s room had once smelled. The note was written in her handwriting, uneven but still beautiful.
She must have written it months before her illness worsened. It read:
‘Nora, my dear girl, my greatest treasure is hidden where we kept the Christmas decorations. Don’t let anyone take it, it’s for you.’
My heart raced as I returned to the attic with the note clutched tightly in my hand. I found an old box of Christmas decorations hidden in a corner amongst things I hadn’t touched the day before.
I immediately reached inside, and underneath the old tinsel and Christmas tree ornaments was a smaller box wrapped in red velvet. I unwrapped it and gasped. Inside was a tiny dainty key attached to a chain and another note that read:
‘This key is for the old cupboard downstairs, the same one I always asked you never to open. Merry Christmas, my dear.’
It was clear that Grandma wanted me to have fun. It was like a treasure hunt, so I hurried into the living room where the old wardrobe stood.
I had always wanted to know what was inside, but my grandmother had forbidden me to open it. Now I was nervous, and my hands were shaking as I put the key in the lock and turned it. There was a click and the heavy doors opened.
I can’t say I was expecting anything crazy. I knew Grandma wasn’t hiding a second life or a secret career from us, which might have been more exciting.
But I was still fascinated by what I saw. She had diaries, photographs, belongings and letters collected there. Three in particular caught my eye. One was addressed to me, one to my mum and one to my dad.
There were others addressed to the rest of the family, but I only took the ones pertaining to my house. There was movement from the kitchen, and I realised that my parents were waiting for me to open the Christmas presents.
But I beckoned them over to the wardrobe and explained what Grandma had done. ‘I think Grandma wanted to spend one last Christmas with us, even though she won’t be here,’ I said.
‘That sounds so much like her!’ exclaimed Mum, the first to open the letter. Her eyes widened, and she uttered: ‘She left me her silk scarf.’
I smiled and pulled it out of the wardrobe. Mum wrapped it around her, reading Grandma’s words:
‘For you, my dear daughter, so that you will remember me when you need comfort. May it bring you warmth and joy.’
Father’s letter was next. He carefully unfolded it and smiled as he read, ‘To my son-in-law, a man who shares my love of history. This is for you, from your old father-in-law’s collection. May it ignite the same passion in you.’
She presented him with a rare collectible book of model ships that had belonged to my late grandfather. My father’s eyes lit up with delight when I handed him the book. He had dreamed of owning it, and my grandmother fulfilled his wish.
Finally, it was my turn. With trembling hands and pounding heart, I opened the letter.
‘My dear Nora,’ I read aloud, ’I have been quietly saving money for years, putting it away little by little. This is for you, to help you realise your dreams. Use them wisely, my love.’
Beneath her words were her bank details, which we checked later, and the amount was more than enough to pay for the entire first year at an elite school or four years at a public school.
Along with the money, she left me her treasured collection of books that she had collected over decades. She knew how much I loved to read, and I couldn’t have been more grateful to her.
But that wasn’t the end of it. Grandma told me to look at the bottom of her wardrobe, where a small velvet pouch lay. It contained her jewellery collection: dainty necklaces, vintage earrings and a beautiful ring of pearls.
All the women in my family admired the jewellery, and my grandmother instructed my mother and me to distribute it as we saw fit.
After receiving the gifts from my grandmother and the last words to each of us, we gathered around the Christmas tree and naturally began sharing memories of it. We laughed and we cried.
My mum and dad gave me their gifts and exchanged some amongst themselves, but I knew that nothing we received that year would compare to Grandma’s surprise. In a way, she gave us another Christmas with her.
This year I graduated from high school and decided to go to college in our state. So the money she saved will help me get a college education without debt. These days I know I am incredibly privileged.
We will be spending our second Christmas without her, and it’s hard, but I’m finally seeing her die, as my aunt tried to explain. I’m not in a crisis about life and death and what the universe means.
I just see life as a gift. We are here. We make our memories. We are loving. We grow. We learn, and then we leave, whatever that means. And we hope we leave a legacy full of love for those who loved us just as beautifully.
