A sewing box.

I was about half way to school the other morning when the thought hit me, "I should call my Grams."

Grams was always wanting to be filled in with the tiniest details of our lives. And she was truly one of my biggest cheerleaders. I loved breathing in her excitement, whether through a giddy scream on the other end of the phone or an email in ALL CAPS just gushing over how proud of me she was.

As soon as the thought entered my head, a deep and ugly realization overtook it.

I can't call her. My Grams passed away last summer.

It hit me hard. I think everyone grieves a little differently, and there are certain milestones that are decidedly harder than others. For some, it's a first Mother's Day or birthday or wedding without them. For me, it was the realization that I couldn't just pick up the phone and call her. I think I finally grasped the reality of her death on the way to school that day even more than the day of her funeral.

Tonight I came across her old sewing box in our garage. I somehow inherited it when she passed away, but I had never looked very closely through its contents. I fingered through the lace and bobbins and buttons that were never used. I saw needles that were still threaded. So much left unfinished.

I wondered what she planned to make when she purchased a pink spool of thread or butterfly appliques. I thought about the brevity of life. Not only her life - every life.

We are but a breath, and we will undeniably leave with things left unfinished. What an admonishment to live intentionally, to not take a moment for granted.

More than anything, though, it felt so good to touch and smell and treasure a few little things that she had touched and smelled and treasured one time. And for the first time in a year, I felt close to her again.