The ache in my heart swelled to unbearable proportions. She had thought of me, even in her final days, leaving behind this symbol of her love for me.
As I sat there, the pieces of her note lingered in my mind.
My uncle. His jealousy.
It all made sense now, the way he’d rushed the funeral, his brusque phone calls, the coldness in his voice.
He’d never hidden his resentment, but to think that he’d taken it this far… refusing to wait even a few hours.
Still, as much as his actions stung, I couldn’t let them overshadow what I held in my hands. The watch wasn’t just an heirloom, it was a promise.
It was the promise of a connection to my grandmother that time could never erase.
The cemetery was quiet as I stood by her grave, sharing memories, apologizing for being late, and thanking her for everything she’d given me.
When I finally stood to leave, I slipped the watch onto my wrist. It felt like a piece of her was with me, tangible and eternal.
The house was still empty when I returned, but it didn’t feel quite as suffocating anymore.
I stood in the living room, looking at the remnants of her life, her unfinished sock, the framed photo of the two of us by the mantel.
Moments later, the door opened.
“Teresa,” he said. “What are you doing here? Why bother to come when everything is over?”
“How can you ask me such a question?” I gasped.
“She was old, Teresa,” he said.
“What did you expect? That the old woman would live forever?”
“When did you get so cruel, Uncle Craig?” I asked.
“When did you get so self-righteous?” he spat.
Before I knew it, two men from a moving company walked into the house.
“I’m taking the furniture. And those expensive plates and vases.
I’m going to sell them.”
“Gran will never forgive you for this,” I said simply, sitting down on the couch.
“Gran is long gone, Teresa. It’s time to move on. And don’t try to contest the will,” he said.
“Gran would have given everything to me. I can’t wait to give Rose her watch. My mother would absolutely want her first-born granddaughter to have it.”
I pulled my sleeve down, hoping that Craig wouldn’t see the watch.
I wasn’t going to hand it over. No way. But at the same time, I didn’t want to entertain Craig.
He could take everything else.
A few months had passed since I left my grandmother’s house for the last time. Life had resumed its usual rhythm, or at least, that’s what it looked like from the outside.
The watch stayed on my wrist, its weight a constant reminder of her. Some days, I caught myself holding it, brushing my thumb over the inscription as if I could summon her voice.
One evening, I made myself a cup of tea, Gran’s favorite chamomile blend, and curled up on the sofa with a blanket.
The unfinished sock from her house now sat on my coffee table, neatly placed in a small knitting basket.
I picked up the knitting needles, my fingers still clumsy and awkward with the motions. She’d tried to teach me once, years ago, but I’d been too impatient to sit still.
“One day you’ll see,” she’d said with a knowing smile. “That knitting is like life.
You just keep going, one stitch at a time.”
One stitch at a time.
Source: amomama
