Grandma in My Pocket

         I was sad the day Grandma died.

         She loved me and I loved her.

         I remembered our special tea parties.

         I remembered our garage sale, everything a nickel a piece.

         I remembered watching the birds.

         Mama said to pick something out of Grandma’s to remember her by.

         Aunt Mary claimed the teapot.

         Uncle Martin grabbed the pictures.

         I didn’t need table cloths or towels.

         I couldn’t read Grandma’s books yet.

         There were boxes and boxes of Grandma’s things everywhere.

         Mama showed me knick-knacks through her tears.

         I kept searching.

         Nothing looked the same as it did when Grandma was here.

         I walked to her closet and touched her clothes. They smelled good. They smelled like Grandma and for a moment I thought Grandma was with me.

         I found a folded handkerchief in one of her pockets. It smelled of lavender. I breathed in Grandma’s scent through my nose. Tears filled my eyes.

         This was the next best thing to Grandma. I slipped the handkerchief in my pocket and smiled.

         I had Grandma in my pocket.

         For many years I would carry this handkerchief with me. When I felt sad I would pull it out and smell the lavender. It helped me not forget my grandma. She would always be with me.

         But I still miss her.

         And I still have that handkerchief.