The legacy

Okay, so I generally don't go through my day getting all mopey and existential. But I've been thinking about what it's all about. You know. Life.

Last night I received a package from my mom with things of my grandmother's that we decided I would have. A gorgeous amethyst (my birthstone) cocktail ring. An exquisite hand-beaded evening bag from France. A silver compact that she used to carry. An ivory heart pendant she used to wear (I don't wear ivory or coral, but I will wear this because it was hers). A Louis Vuitton tote. A vintage Pucci silk dress. A Kate Spade purse that still had one of her lipsticks in the inside pocket. A shawl that she must have bought when she visited us in India, because it's very similar to one I own from there. A beautiful silk and cut velvet wrap.

It all still smells like her. It totally epitomizes the impeccable taste and effortless style she had. And as I went through the box, I started to sob. I was still feeling all weepy a little later as I was putting Zeke to bed, so even though I should have let him cry it out to go to sleep -- he was exhausted and had been fighting it for an hour -- I cried and held him tight and let him fall asleep on me.

My reaction surprised me. I was with my mom and my aunt when they were cleaning out her closets and deciding what would go to Goodwill and what would be handed down to members of the family. And maybe it's because there was so much to do and we had already done so much crying, but it was a very matter-of-fact process.

But last night, when Jason and I looked at the things in the box, we both remarked, almost at the same time, on how sad it was that someone's life could be reduced to a collection of things.

Of course, that's not the half of her legacy. She lives on in all of us, and in the way we were raised and in the way we will raise our children. A defining characteristic of my family is how supportive my parents always were of the things my brothers and I did. Sunshine was blown up our asses on a regular basis, about every little thing. My brother Sam once lamented that the outside world sometimes seems that much crueler as compared to the warm bosom of the family, where every minor accomplishment is lauded and people are constantly telling you how much they love you and how great they think you are.

And that unquestionably flowed from my grandparents. From the minute I was born, my grandparents doted on me. Called me "Wendy Wonderful." Praised every little thing I did. I adored my grandmother, for her intelligence, her verve, and for the love and affection she showered on me my entire life.

She was like that with alot of people. People were drawn to her. She was like a force of nature. One of the things that touched me most about her funeral was that a couple of people showed up that hadn't seen her or talked to her in 20 years, but they saw the death notice in the newspaper and wanted to come and pay their respects.

I guess that's what it's all about. Living a good life and making a positive impact on people. I'll be wearing and enjoying my grandmother's things as a reminder to do my best.