It Figures

I'm sorry about your situation. I lost my grandmother 12 years ago and it feels like yesterday sometimes. Before she passed she showed me her jewelry and tried to give some to me,saying she wouldn't be around forever and wanted me to have it. My mom overheard and demanded she stop talking that way and put back the jewlery. She died not long after and i never got the jewlelry and everything was sold, including house. I now take comfort in knowing its not about objects,she loved me and wanted me to have some of her things,but in the end,i will be with her again. That's what i want, not her jewelry.
 
Guy wrote them a check. No agent involved.

My 20th high school reunion is next weekend. I plan to stop by and talk to the guy and see what he says. Turns out he knew my grandparents.
He has already moved into the house.

It makes me mad that DH and I were willing to bend over backwards and no one bothered to contact me until everything was over and done with.

I still remember the friend who built them. He and his wife could not have kids so every time we went over he was always so happy to see us and sneak us candy without our folks knowing. I can still his laugh in my memory. He died suddenly from a heart attack years ago, but I still remember him.
 
Perhaps send him a letter............
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**Slightly off subject

Spent a lot of time at my grandmothers house as a young boy.
Grandpa was gone early in my life.

I didn't get anything from grandma. Didn't expect anything.

But I built myself a miniature of her old farmhouse. Old white clapboard
hillbilly farmhouse. Tarpaper roof. The barn, well back from the house,
was still log.

I don't know if it's to scale. But it looks pretty close to my memory. Used
old photos to get some features right.

Sets in a bookcase in my bedroom. It's not a real big thing.



Just big enough for me to go home when I need to.



Her house was way back in those Kentucky hills. You drove the car, parked,
crossed an old swinging bridge and then walked in. Every once in a while when
the creek was low, you could drive your car to her side of the water.

From the front porch swing, you could see the road way in the distance, cross the
creek. Cars were quiet. The coal trucks...you could hear the trucks, but they were
way far off.

Those long slow coal trains will always be a special memory to me. Black smoke rolling,
you could hear it coming. Evening train, blowing by. Listen to the whistle.

All these years, and I think I could put every piece of furniture back in the old house, right
where it went.

The slamming of that old wooden screen door...taking those cold baths in a tub in the
kitchen.

The pasture up by the barn...that's where I learned it wasn't good to tease the bull.

I know this is off subject. But I guess what I'm saying is that it isn't the possessions people
leave us that matter.

It the memories...
 
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Maybe they will be willing to trade out for the new ones since it sounds like they might know what a special memory the wardrobes hold for you. I hope so.

When everything of my mom's was lost I had to keep reminding myself to look at it as if there had been some sort of natural disaster that came through and swept everything away. She once lost a house to fire with everything in it, so I know she'd understand it was out of our control.
 

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