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Special Delivery

screen-shot-2016-10-06-at-2-15-56-pmAs Husband and I drove 1295 miles west, we wondered how much it would’ve cost to ship everything in our van. Son’s stuff that been stored at our house all his life and a few of his and Daughter-in-Law’s things. Now we were spending two and a half days travelling in a van packed to the hilt. Picture albums, quilts, treasures from grandparents, Daughter-in-Law’s great-grandmother’s desk, a Civil War rifle, a handmade cedar chest, and so much more.

For days, Husband and I gathered and wrapped and packed. We prayed for travelling mercies: good weather, safety, a sense of humor and all went as planned. We arrived at Son’s home in time to greet our five-year-old Grand as he stepped off the school bus. Dean’s eyes grew big when he saw his parents and us. He jumped down the bus steps, almost fell, and ran to my open arms. “Gran!” he shouted and threw his arms around my neck.

“What’s in your van?” Dean asked when saw it in the driveway. Things that belong to your daddy and mommy. “Any toys?”

The next day after breakfast, Husband opened the van’s doors and Son and Daughter-in-Law were surprised to see how much we’d brought. The best way I could help was to take the two younger Grands for a walk. Neil, age 3, rode his balance bike, and I pushed sixteen-month-old Annie in her stroller.

screen-shot-2016-10-06-at-2-16-38-pmWhen we returned, the van was empty and Son’s office was piled with treasures. Sitting on the floor, Dean plucked the strings on a guitar that lay across his legs. Son tightened the strings, showed Dean how to hold a guitar, and admitted he never learned to play when he got it as a young teenager.

screen-shot-2016-10-06-at-2-15-02-pmNeil grabbed a stuffed Benji, Son’s sleeping buddy when he was a toddler. Then he found two other Benjis and hugged all three. “These are mine!” Neil announced.

Chests that my dad had made were carried downstairs. The toy chest was filled with dress up clothes in the playroom; the cedar chest set at the end of a bed for guests. “It’s perfect here and I want to store quilts we aren’t using in it,” Daughter-in-Law said.

Dean discovered an orange and tan quilt that my grandmother had made and dragged it to his room. He yanked a quilt off his bed, threw it on his brother’s bed, and pulled the orange quilt onto his. “Here, Neil, you can have my old quilt,” he said.

Annie rocked in the toddler-size rocking chair that my dad made for Son almost 40 years ago. It fit her perfectly. Several times during the four days Husband and I visited, Son ‘went missing.’ He unpacked and unwrapped and reminisced, and he didn’t try to send anything back with us although I predict some things might be donated or tossed.

After we left Son’s house, he texted a picture of a 1940’s porcelain white chicken candy dish that was his grandmother’s. “Just found the little white chicken. It’s great! Some things old are new again.” I wiped sentimental tears.

When we got home, Husband found a box we forgot to take and two weeks later, I found a box in our storage closet labeled with Son’s name and “School stuff and more.” He’ll be surprised when UPS delivers a box on his doorstep. I hope he reads the autobiography he wrote when he was in the 8th grade and I wish I could be there when he opens that box.

Driving 1295 miles wasn’t just about delivering stuff. Hugs and kisses and playing can’t be measured in dollars.

From Our House to Son’s

screen-shot-2016-09-29-at-6-17-54-amWhen Son said, “This is the house our children will grow up in,” it was time to take him all his stuff. Son moved away from home more that twenty years ago. Went off to college and then moved into a 900 square foot house when he took his first real job. He married, he and Daughter-in-Law had three children, and they moved three times. And everything collected and saved from Son’s birth through college years has been safely stored at Husband’s and my house.

Now, Son’s family has settled into their forever home. So Husband and I started gathering stuff and making plans to drive 1295 miles to deliver treasures. We’d take the back seats out of my van and fill it full.

Would Son want everything that has been saved? Some things were going for sure: a cedar chest and a toy chest and toddler-size rocking chair that my dad made for him many years ago. High school yearbooks and a letter jacket. College fraternity scrapbooks. All the picture albums with his name on the spine. A purple and gold basketball from Tennessee Tech basketball camp. Quilts that he and his family had chosen from those my granny made.

I was surprised when we opened Son’s cedar chest. Forgotten treasures lay inside. A never used quilt, pillowcases cross-stitched by another great-grandmother, three stuffed Benjis – one so loved that its fur was flattened and matted. A cookbook, including Husband’s grandmother’s recipes, published by her Home Demonstration Club. Small treasures from his grandparents’ homes. Things that Son chose when he was young. A vintage white chicken candy dish. A small wooden black bear with a note tied to it. My mom had written, “Papa and I got this when we went to the Smokies for our honeymoon in 1939.” Would these things mean anything to Son at this stage of his life?

Then there was a pile of questionable stuff. Should we take a leather belt with a big western buckle? A guitar that Son strummed for a few weeks when he was 14 and bored and snow storms closed school for a month? Cassette tapes? A blanket he bought at a flea market when he went to camp one summer? A collection of twenty-year-old Sports Illustrated magazines? Rifles – the 22 he learned to shoot as his grandfather stood over his shoulder? A Civil War rifle passed down through generations? His first B B gun? A Santa Claus cookie jar? And so much more.

Son and I talked using Face Time. I held my phone camera in front of items. Yes, the belt. Yes, the guitar. “Does it still play?” he asked. No, cassette tapes. Yes, to everything else, including all three Benjis. “Unless you don’t have room and I’ll get some stuff another time.” There’d be room. Husband and I were determined.

Daughter-in-Law’s parents brought treasures. Her great-grandmother’s desk with fragile curved legs and a mirror and jars of her grandmother’s homemade blackberry jelly.

Loading the van was like putting together a jigsaw puzzle with pieces that didn’t fit. Husband measured and wrapped and taped. We wedged and padded and filled every possible space. After three hours, we declared that everything would travel securely and not rattle during our journey. Husband drove around the block just to make sure.

How would Son and Daughter-in-Law and their three young children react when they see all this stuff? Stuff that’s theirs. Mostly stuff that has been in the house where Son grew up.