Sometimes, little things are precious things
Tiny and miniscule to some, extraordinary and sentimental to others.
I'm a snoop. I confess.
I used to pour over every item in my grandmother's home.
As a child, I spent so much time there, it was my second home.
I could still take a mental tour and walk myself through each and every room and its contents.
In a bedroom, in an armoire, was this little wooden box.
One proper day of childhood investigation and inquisitiveness demanded that I take a closer look.
So, I sat down on the bed with my treasure chest.
Inside was a little zippered black pouch, some holy medals, and a wedding ring.
The little pouch was even repaired with some small stitches at one point.
Inside the tiny pouch was a black-beaded rosary and a quarter for alms.
The quarter has a little patina from being zippered up with the rosary for so many years.
At some point here, I can remember my grandmother walking through the door.
"Before you were born, my mother died.
I found her, laying in the snow on the side of the house.
She was walking to church (two blocks away) and had a stroke.
This little black purse was in her hand when I found her.
She always took her rosary to church
and an offering.
This was hers, and so I keep it, just the way she had it"
And now it is mine
to keep just the way she had it.