little black book

no one had seen it in a few months.
the drawers and cupboards had been searched.
the deskdrawers had been sifted.
years upon years of dates and deaths and purchases and events recorded
now lost.
we all felt a sense of our history in those notes hand written over so many years.
so many dates that no one else knows and would never be known if it wasn't for the little black book.
my granny kept saying she knew where it was.
after all, it's her book.
she took the time after each grandchild was born...
after grandpa bought a new computer...
after her brothers and sisters died one by one...
after grandpa put new tires on the car...
to write it all down.

so during our visit the week before thanksgiving,
we gave it one more try.
one more look-see

after a few moments of drawer-opening and a quick prayer that we might catch a glimpse of it...
in the very back of her china closet drawer...

the very back on the left, under some old bank reciepts, there it was.

small. old. tattered.
the little black book.
as i picked it up, it felt treasured.
i felt special getting to look through it's yellowed pages.
like i was looking into my heritage to see who was there.
i started at the begining.
it was filled with life.
happy things, times, dates.
marriages. births.

new microwaves and new furniture.

but as the pages continue,
the theme shifts.
pain. sickness. death.
the loss of ones so very loved fill the pages.
her friends. her family.

her husband.

almost all have passed.
my granny and her sister and her sister in law are all that are living.
a special group.
the things they have seen and known and lived are beyond what we will know.

i treasure her little black book because it means so much to her that these things are remembered.

it's important to her that the important things are not forgotten.

i treasure her.

(not sure when this picture was taken, but my granny is 2nd from the right.)