Grace Hammond died in 1981. Or maybe early 1982, I don’t recall exactly. She was my great aunt, the beloved little sister of my dear grandmother. I never really knew Aunt Grace at all—we had met only briefly on two occasions during my childhood. But she never missed my birthday, sending me a typewritten note on purple stationary with a small gift of money enclosed in a purple envelope.
I was saddened to learn that Aunt Grace had gone, maybe more sad for my grandmother’s loss than anything else. But she had one last gift for me, a bequest of more money than I had ever known in my young life. In retrospect, it was a rather modest sum, not enough to alter my circumstances in any significant way, but a meaningful boost just the same toward some degree of economic security.
We were newly married then, and we put most of Grace’s money away toward eventually buying our first house. But I took a small chunk of it two days before Christmas to buy Melanie a somewhat extravagant gift. Actually, it was a gift for both of us: a stereo system to fill our home with music. Most everything else from those youthful days has long since disappeared down the long highway of passing years, but we still have the turntable and speakers that showed up that long ago Christmas compliments of my generous Aunt Grace. Her gift still fills our house with music.
[Daily post 013 of 260 in my year-long challenge.] ♨