The Legacy of my Heart

I loved her. I didn’t want the money instead. This wasn’t an exchange I had asked for; I never sent this wish into the universe.

Nana. Gram’s as I got older - as I got older and we became friends. When you grow into the light and magic of someone, when you see all their bent bits and love them for each jagged edge.

But she’s gone now. Brutal time pushes on and claims another. Not a tragic story from the outside, but crushing from inside my world view. Who pities the life that ends old and comfortable in their bed, surrounded by tears shed from love?

But it crushed me. Crinkled me up. Cracked all my bones into unnatural shapes. My world went empty, my colours went grey.

So the $20,000 she left me wasn’t much the celebration everyone else said it should be.

“What will you buy!?”

“Think of the shoes!”

No thank you. I’ll take one grandmother instead, please. One order of best friend, thank you very much.

I pull out my small black notebook, run my hand along its textured cover. Who will I name first?

Jan. Jan needs some money. Jan has kids, parents always need more money. I open to my first blank page and write her name in block letters. Yes, $2000 let’s say. Jot that down.

Sally. Sally’s a student. John. John always has helped me when I needed it. Oh, and Lindsay. She is probably the kindest person I know.

It’s a longer list than I expected when I first started this. Fantastic. Money will be gone in no time.

I close the notebook, push my fingers against my burning eyes - blocking out memories.

It burns on my bank account; I flinch when I stare at the screen. My reminder, my painful stab in my side when those numbers sear into my eyes. Need it gone, I want it away. All I see in those numbers is the absence of her. This isn’t for them. This is for me; get rid of every dime of it.

“But Gram’s wanted you to enjoy it.” A hand held out to hold mine.

“No thank you. It’s her money.” I kept my hands tucked against myself. I don’t need your compassion.

Ah, the old man down the street. I reopen the notebook. Him too, his face is pulled into a scowl most hours of the day, but he smiled at me once. That’s worth two grand to me.

I close my notebook again with a feeling of finality. I place my pen on top, sit back in my chair and let out a deep sigh.

I’ll hand it out tomorrow.

*******

“You have no idea. Do you know what you’ve done? Oh, you have no idea, you changed my life!”

“No problem, we don’t need to talk about it.” Tears had played with the backs of my eyes, burning their presence.

I had included a note that said no thanks necessary, but it seems no one bothered reading it - phone calls all day, texts. Someone came by with cookies.

I’m shedding my pain on to you. I’m ridding my world of reminders; please don’t come by to drumbeat this into my head. This was supposed to be a closed transaction.

Ally almost got me.

“I didn’t think I could afford to take care of her. It was just too hard. I would need time off; I would need some things to help her out. But now I can. You have no idea-” I had lost half of what she said to her sniffling. “Thank you - from every part of my heart. You just-you just changed my life. You just made it so I can help out with-” And then it had just been sobbing from there.

I had underestimated the power of money. Bills, paper, funny little numbers on it, had changed their lives. Had made a dent. Had made struggling people sob with pleasure and gratitude.

The warm crawl of feeling good starts to tickle in my chest. No. Push it down. There are no cracks of joy in this. This wasn’t what this was.

Knock knock.

Everything creaks as I get up to answer the door. The whine of the knob turning. The dance of air as my door swings wide open.

He’s crying. Wrinkles down his face, skin textured by sun, streams of salty tears wind their way down to his chin.

“I came by to say-” his voice is water, and his hands curl around my note nervously.

“You really don’t need to-,” old man down the street, I never did learn his name, “-Sir. I wanted to do this. I don’t need any thanks.”

“I need to, ma’am.” He steps into my house, walks to my table. He walks past the discards of my day. “You have no idea how you have helped.”

I’ve heard this all day long. “I understand. I just don’t feel the need for thanks.”

“Why?”

Now, no one had asked me that. “It was my grandma’s. It hurts too much to keep it. I really miss her.” I had been so unprepared that the words had slipped out. My mouth is left open in sudden shock. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. That pain is mine.

“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss.” More tears. More wringing of hands. “If it helps, I can tell you what you’ve done.”

I am putting up my hand to stop him, but he carries on.

“My granddaughter. She’s very talented. She plays the violin.” He chuckles to himself, a pride dances behind his teary eyes. “But, not a lot of programs for violin. If she played football, some business in town would pay for her things, but beautiful music is not worth their money, I guess. And you see, well you see, I’ve never had much money.” His head stoops down. “I never could pass much on. My daughter has done the best she could, but I didn’t give her the best start. I couldn’t give her an easy life.”

“I’m sure you did the best you were able to.”

He brings his head up. “I did. It will never have been enough though.” More tears. “Not enough; I wish I could have given more.” He holds up my note, takes a moment to make sure he has held my eyes. “This is more. I can do more with this. I can give what I always wanted to give. This will go straight to her talent. This will go straight to her better life. That’s the gift you gave me. That’s the gift your grandma gave to us. I just want you to know what she’s done. Well, what you’ve done together, the legacy of both your names.”

I step back, try to steady my feet. My world just tilted. My anger just softened, let loose a little in my chest.

“I never thought of it as-”

“Oh? Well, can I have her name too? I want to tell my granddaughter. I’ll make sure her memory lives on. I’ll make sure my granddaughter knows where this came from, and she thinks of her whenever she plays her violin.”

I stop. I can picture her memory dancing on each note that his granddaughter plays, her youthful fingers plucking out all the imprints of Gram’s life, letting them dance into the air for everyone to hear.

All I can do is nod. These tears. These tears I never cried, this sobbing that racks my body. I never had allowed it.

“Thank you,” I say as I hand him our information - as I hand him our names for the remembrance - so she can be allowed to echo. “Really. You have no idea. Thank you so much.”

We hug. We cry. Then I watch him make his way back to his small house.

I open my notebook and put a small smiley face beside his name. A tear hits the page and smudges the ink.

I think I’ll call them all; I’ll follow up. Savour all the places where Gram’s has travelled. Every muscle in my face aches from the large grin that crosses my mouth as I make a title for my page - scratch scratch of the pen as it strokes across rough paper.

LEGACY OF MY HEART

I close my notebook and look outside.

What a beautiful day.