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.