Sitting on her living room floor with the old boxes, part of me wanted to keep all of the jewelry, but like everything else in Grandma’s house, there was just too much of it.
We missed the early signs, but it was clear that she had dementia and couldn’t care for herself any longer. It was time to empty her overstuffed house.
As we sifted through her things, she didn’t object, but her piercing blue eyes watched us — quietly. Too quietly. She had always been the strongest, most dominant personality in the room. Now she was eerily silent as we made decisions about what to do with her prized possessions. It almost felt like we were stealing her things.
Courtesy of Kimberly Yavorski.
Two boxes had been set aside, kept out of the early sales and donation runs. For some reason, the task of sorting through her jewelry fell to me, her oldest grandchild. It struck me that while I had spent many hours as a child admiring many pretty things at Grandma’s, I don’t recall ever seeing a jewelry box, never mind going through its contents. Perhaps that is why, when I finally did, it felt like an invasion.
My mom pulled out the few pieces she wanted to keep. My sister insisted she didn’t want any of it. The boxes held an eclectic collection of both fine and costume jewelry. An 8-year-old me would have been thrilled at the opportunity to wear these sparkly treasures, but 30-something me considered most of the costume pieces to be too gaudy. To me, they screamed, “Look at me!” They were not at all my style. I set aside a few pieces I knew I would wear, but I had no idea what to do with the rest.
My grandmother made a room shine
Decades before, my grandmother had been a nightclub singer: newspaper ads heralded the appearance of “Broadway Gert.” Though I don’t have any memories of her club days, I have vivid memories from my childhood of her captivating presence at family functions.
I sat in awe at the transformation of my grandma, the woman who cuddled and played with me almost every weekend, to a performing artist, a star. She sparkled, not just from her sparkly sequined long dresses and jewelry, but also from within. Her joy was evident, and I was transfixed. Yes, I was a groupie to my grandma.
Though I’ve tried, I haven’t found words to fully describe her vibrancy and presence to her great-grandchildren, who have only vague memories of a sweet old lady lavishing praise and cuddles on them. All I can offer them are pictures, faded with age, and video recordings of her performing at my sister’s and my weddings. Even then, well into her 70s, she enchanted her audiences.
It was hard to pare down the collection
Holding an old ornate pin that seemed out of sync with most of the contents, I thought back to a trip I took with my grandma when I was about 12. We had settled into our plane seats when she pulled a paper lunch bag out of her purse. She pushed the bag at me in the hurried way she often gave us things, almost as if someone would catch her and stop the transaction. Inside was an odd assortment of pieces: rings with fake gems, colorful plastic beads, and a gold locket with a diamond chip embedded in the center. I questioned the locket, saying it was too precious, but she shrugged it off, saying it was all costume junk. Even then, I knew there was no arguing with her; the only acceptable response was “Thank you.”
Courtesy of Kimberly Yavorski.
Bringing my attention back to the boxes, I spent an hour or so pondering the contents, taking each piece out reverentially, evaluating its potential. In the end, I kept the jewelry boxes and a much pared-down collection that included several pieces I didn’t particularly like, but felt compelled to hold onto.
My feelings have changed over the years
Grandma’s been gone more than twenty years now. Every so often, I pull the boxes out and reacquaint myself with the contents, sometimes trying on pieces to see how they “fit.” Almost every time I lift their lids, one or more pieces make their way into my jewelry box as I grow into them.
Though once I thought them overly showy, too much for my plain self, I now see them as they are: true heirlooms that not only hold a piece of Grandma’s life story, but also objects that were (some literally) close to her heart. Eventually, my girls (and my niece, who never got to meet her great-grandma) will get to choose which pieces they want for themselves.
Though they didn’t get to see her in action, my hope is that they can appreciate and share in her love of accessorizing while having a very tangible way to feel her love for them, which shone brighter than any bauble possibly could.
