My Estate

 

I'm finding myself a little pensive this evening. I was sitting at the dinner table looking at the overflowing china hutch and wondering if any of my children will ever be interested in the fragile treasures that are so dear to my heart.

 

Many of these things belonged to my grandmother, or were actually painted by her. These dainties have tremendous sentimental value. I'm very protective of this collection. I'm wondering if there is a lick of sense in that.

 

I have no problem imagining my daughter with dollies and teacups in her home, although the potential of said home being remotely tidy is a daydream for sure. Aaron is still young enough that I can imagine his future just about any way I want it to be. It's a funny thing with kids, how we create them in our imagination. I have had a grieving process of sorts over each of my children as they grow because they cease to be what I imagined, and they materialize into something real. Not that that's necessarily bad. I think it's natural. It's certainly more difficult when they serve prison time instead of becoming a politician, but the principle is the same, I think.

 

When they were little, I envisioned, somehow, that I'd chose well-suited spouses and settle them in nearby cottages where I could bounce all those grandbabies on my knee. Because I'm nothing if not controlling and creepy.

 

They are nothing like I thought they would be. Aaron has ginormous feet and wears shorts in the dead of winter. He is analytical and quirky. Michael tucks his sweat pants into his cowboy boots, and flexes his biceps. He can make everyone laugh, and genuinely cares about people. Don is lanky and handsome, but listens to Rap. He is insightful and creative. Faline alternates between scowls and smiles and doesn't eat enough, but she's artistic and wise beyond her years. They are each so unique, and so different than I could ever have imagined.

 

I'm glad that they are each their own person. I get to study them and learn from them. The process also stresses me out, but whatever.

 

2008

2015

When the day comes for these four to sort through the loads of nonsense that I value, I wonder which things will matter to them. Will they argue over who gets the tea set painted by their Great Granny, or will that go to the Goodwill? Will they treasure my valuables, or will they treasure the values they grew up with?
Will they know, beyond a doubt, that they are loved... Just as they are? Will they know that their mother is so very proud of them? That she is deeply grateful to God for giving them to her? I hope that is what they see in the teacups and doilies... in the boxes of books and the knickknacks.

That's the sort of thought that makes my porcelain and crystal so precious. It's a reminder of the love of my family; of my heritage, and my Grandparent's legacy. That's what I want to leave to my children.