Last week we were chasing around, trying to get life organized, when the doorbell rang. I glanced at my sweetie, "Are we expecting anybody?" I asked. (The Dog Walker says exactly the same thing any time the doorbell rings.) My sweetie grinned and shook his head. I made my way through the clutter to the front door. Why is it nobody ever comes to the door unexpectedly when the house is clean?
I pulled open the door, assuming it would be a salesman. But I was wrong, it was my aunt, in town from St. George and the first thing she did was hand me a pair of blue Cutco scissors. "Are these the ones?" she asked. I received them gently and then threw my arms around her in a big hug, "Yes!" I cried, tears pricking my eyes. I never thought I would see them again.
My grandma passed away at the age of 93 a year ago next week. If you've been reading my blog for a while, you already know that she and I were very close.
It was difficult to give Grandma a gift. Oh, she was always grateful, but you could tell when she was pleased and when she wasn't. The best gift we ever gave her was a white Persian cat, but I will tell you that story another time. The second best gift I ever gave her was a pair of blue Cutco scissors.
Grandma loved crocheting and knitting, so yarn was always a safe bet for a gift. But one day shortly after I got my own pair of Cutco scissors, she was using them when she noticed how nice they were. "They should be!" I griped, "They cost over a hundred dollars!" At the time I was doing quite a bit of sewing professionally and my sweetie was anxious to get me a good pair of sewing shears when he found the Cutco ones. They immediately became my favorites.
After Grandma admired them, I knew I had to get a pair for her. It was a gift she would love and use no matter how old or frail she got. And she did. The handles on hers were more worn than the handles on mine! The last time we visited with her before she died, I told her the only thing I wanted after she was gone was that pair of scissors.
In typical Grandma fashion, she answered, "Go ahead, take them now." But I couldn't do that. It was the one gift I had ever given her that she could still use. So I hesitated and figured it was no big deal. Why would anyone care about one pair of scissors but me?
We were not surprised when she passed away, although she wasn't sickly. But 93 is getting up there. I immediately inquired about the scissors to first my brother who had bought Grandma's house and the contents many years ago and got his consent, and then to my siblings and my aunt and uncle. I was never in the house after Grandma passed away, but the scissors appeared to be gone.
No one had seen them or knew anything about them, but I knew Grandma loved them and used them and they were an important link for me. I tried for the first two weeks with everyone who helped clean out her things, even the neighbors, but no one had seen them. After that, I gave up. Those scissors with her very fingerprints etched into them were gone to me forever.
I thought about them from time to time over the past year, lamenting that I had not taken Grandma's advice and walked away with the scissors the day she offered to return them to me. But I couldn't do it, she wasn't finished with them yet.
Then my aunt and uncle showed up at the door...