I am not really much of a sentimental person.  I have a couple of boxes of toys and memories from my childhood/teen years.  But other than that, I don’t get too attached to things.  I’m rarely emotional–I’m pretty even keeled.  I’m not touchy feely and I’m not a hugger.

And that is why this post might be surprising.  And not at all what you expect.  But for years now, I have had a hard time letting go.  Of these.

They are beautiful, aren’t they?  They are the ONE THING in my life that has remained untouched from my previous OCD life (before kids).  I have held onto them with a death grip, keeping them away from my children selfishly.

These were a gift from my grandmother when I was in elementary school.  The plastic crayola travel case that held 72 crayons, with a built in sharpener in the back.  I cherished it growing up.  I replaced the set of crayons as they dulled.  I brought them with me to college.  I colored many, many pictures using my crayon holder.  It’s so special to me.  The organized, perfectly pointed tips of all of them makes me so happy.

Brayden has asked to use them so many times, I can’t remember.  Maybe when you’re five, I would tell him.  You’ll know how to take care of things when you’re five.  Oh, well, maybe when you’re six.  Seven?  Forget it, you’ll never be old enough to use my perfect set of 72 crayons from crayola that are perfectly organized and nearly unused and a wonderful gift from my grandmother who passed away almost ten years ago and this is the one thing that I hold onto that reminds me of her.  Maybe you can use them when you’re twenty five.  Perhaps then you will see the value in them.

But today, they came out again, and again I was asked if he could use them.  My stomach knotted up.  Seriously, it still is.  In a big knot.  And I tried to come up with another excuse on why I don’t want him to use them.  I see the wonderful circular crayon holder that he himself got for his sixth birthday–I see all the broken, peeled crayons that are so dulled that they make me cringe.  And I envision my 72 perfect crayons the same way.  Broken.  Unloved.  Disheveled and used.

I see my grandma sitting at the table, coloring a picture with me out of a Precious Moments coloring book.  I see her curly white hair and her perfectly lipsticked lips.  Her rings on her fingers.  The plastic fruit that sits in the gold fruit basket with the handle behind us.  I see the little pieces of wheat bread that come in the plastic bag within the plastic bag, and the mayo for the sandwich that she puts on both pieces of bread.  I hear her saying, “Bethie. .. . bethie, you want a tic tac?”.  And her asking me if I was okay while I was in the bathroom and if I was having a BM.  I sit in the back of her car with the towel-covered seats and the baseball caps on the back ledge.  I hear her telling me, while we were at the local convenience store that she would quit smoking on my tenth birthday.  I taste the most delicious stuffing known to man–and the most delicious peanut butter bon bons known to man–and the sauce that I love so much with the dash of cinnamon–and the baked macaroni that sits like a brick.  I swim in her round pool in her backyard on Harvington in the little yellow house.  I see the bumpy sparkly ceiling that she had her ceilings treated with and in the corner, the Christmas Tree so covered in silver tinsel that you could barely see the tree. And I miss her so much, and that’s all I think about when I see these crayons.  My grandma.  In these crayons.

But it’s time to let go.  It’s time to pass on the joy of the 72 most perfect crayons.  And today, for the first time, I let Brayden use them.  He drew me a picture of an Indian with a bow and arrow, hunting a bear.  With two gray feathers sticking out of his head, and a loincloth covering his privates.  I may keep the picture forever.

I wish I could show my grandma.