we all live in our hearts

I'm trying to remember what my mother smelled like

How her hands felt

her laugh.

how soft her hair was, like my daughters.

My fathers smile

the way he used to style his hair.

or how he walked.

 one of my sisters is "at war" with me over, of all things, a box of antique silver ware.

I used to polish it for family dinners on special occasions.

Help set the table and we would all crowd around for dinner.

My dad gave it to me a year or so before he passed away to use for a family dinner, along with my mothers good china.

I apparently have no right to it, as it was my fathers mothers and it rightfully goes to her favorite grandchild, my oldest sister.

I'll give it to her sooner than later, it is just a symbol to me and memories.

The part that brings me to tears, is that this beautiful silver ware set, that my great grandmother managed to save with the family during the japanese relocation from BC, will now sit in a box in a china hutch and never ever be used again. No one will have the memories of shining it for dinner, or of a family and friends eating with it on special occasions. Most likely it will stay put until the day she passes and they clean out her home and have one of those "estate" sales everything must go and it will get purchased by no one who will even know that one time my mom snapped me with a towel to hurry up to get it down for christmas dinner.

or that my brother taught me to hang a spoon off my nose when dad wasn't looking over desert.

I'll get i delivered to her some time this spring, and wash my hand of her.