Grandma’s Final Words on Christmas Morning – Fulfilling Her Last Wish

On her deathbed, my grandmother gave me a task that I couldn’t bring myself to complete until Christmas. I grieved her loss for months, and when the chance finally came to honor her final request, I realized just how extraordinary she had been in my life.

This is the story of how my grandmother, who was born on Christmas, ensured that we would never forget her. When I was seventeen years old, my grandmother became incapacitated last year. I am Nora.

It was evident that she would not rise again. Despite the fact that everyone acknowledged this, it was still a challenge. Upon my return from school, I consistently maintained my presence by her side and entertained her. Even though I was uncertain as to whether she was listening to me, I continued to communicate with her.

I was unable to resist, but my mother severely reprimanded me for devoting an excessive amount of time to my grandmother rather than focusing on my academic responsibilities. Grandma was short on time, and my academic achievements appeared to be of little consequence.

The day Grandma passed away, a fierce storm roared outside. I was engrossed in reading a story from a book assigned for school, which meant my mother didn’t mind me being preoccupied.

A terrible, loud lightning bolt struck, and I briefly ceased reading to glance out the window. As I returned my attention to the bed, my grandmother was gesturing and attempting to speak.

“Grandma!” I let out a small whimper.

Her laser-like eyes were fixed on me as she said, “Nora, come closer.” Bright. I joined her with enthusiasm, as she appeared to be experiencing a significant improvement in her health.

“What is it, Grandma?” I smiled broadly as I approached to investigate.

She leaned in and whispered something softly into my ear. I frowned for a moment but then nodded eagerly. Raising her finger, she firmly said, “REMEMBER.”

“Yes, Gran. “Don’t fret,” I reassured them, my enthusiasm waning.

Thirty minutes later, she closed her eyes and vanished.

I stayed wrapped in my mother’s embrace for the rest of the evening, unable to hold back my tears. The funeral, the preparations, and everything that came with it felt overwhelming. Still, my aunt comforted me by reminding me that Grandma had lived a full and beautiful life. She encouraged me to cherish the memories we shared rather than focus on the pain of losing her.

Despite the fact that the concept of mortality and its implications occasionally cause me to lose sleep, those words were incredibly reassuring, and I embraced them as I continued to navigate my life.

In response, I immersed myself fully in my studies, spent time with friends, and committed to my part-time job. Staying busy became my way of avoiding deep existential thoughts. As the days turned into months, her final wish gradually faded from my mind. It wasn’t until Christmas Eve that her words resurfaced, catching me off guard.

Grandma’s voice was strained as she uttered, “Remember the diminutive porcelain box in the attic.” After my departure, remove it. Nevertheless, refrain from opening it until the morning of Christmas.

I quickly made my way to the attic and began sorting through the clutter. Even though my eyes were tired and my nose was irritated from sneezing at the dusty surroundings, I pressed on until I found it. Tucked away in a corner under a pile of books, it rested—a delicate box with worn golden edges and faded floral patterns. Carefully, I lifted it and gave it a soft shake to see what might be inside. There was no sound.

I was tempted to investigate its contents further, but I had made a commitment to myself that it would not be empty. Per her request, I placed it by my bedside and awaited the morning of Christmas.

At five in the morning the following day, I arose from my bed to retrieve it. A small, yellowed note was concealed within, nestled on a bed of worn velvet. The note bore the same subtle lavender scent as Grandma’s room. Although unsteady, her handwriting was still quite lovely.

She must have been writing for months prior to the deterioration of her condition. It stated:

“My greatest treasure, Nora, my sweetest girl, is concealed in the location where we stored the Christmas ornaments.” It is intended for your use; therefore, refrain from allowing anyone else to steal it.

I returned to the attic, my heart pounding, clutching the message in my hands. I stumbled upon the ancient box of Christmas ornaments that had been concealed in a corner, among the items that I had not touched the previous day.

I immediately entered and discovered a smaller box that was wrapped in red velvet, concealed beneath the rusty tinsel and Christmas tree ornaments. Upon opening it, I exhaled. It was accompanied by a small, fragile key suspended from a chain and an additional note that read:

“I have consistently advised you to refrain from accessing the antiquated wardrobe located downstairs, and this key is intended for that purpose.” Merry Christmas, my darling.

Well, my grandmother evidently wanted me to enjoy myself. I hurried to the living room, where the old wardrobe was located, as the situation resembled a treasure search.

Grandma cautioned me against opening it, but I was always intrigued by its contents. Now, when I inserted the key into the lock and turned it, my hands were shaking and I was anxious. A click signaled the hefty doors to open.

I can’t say that I had wild expectations. I was aware that my grandmother was not concealing from us a second life or a clandestine profession, which would have likely been more thrilling.

Still, I was thrilled by what I saw. It contained letters, journals, photographs, and other items that she had gathered. Among those, I was particularly interested in three. One was for my father, one for my mother, and one for me.

There were others for the rest of the family, but I only took ones germane to my home. I knew my parents were waiting for me to receive my Christmas presents when I heard activity emanating from the kitchen.

However, I beckoned them to the closet and described Grandma’s actions. “I think Grandma wanted to spend one last Christmas with us even if she wasn’t here,” I replied.

“That’s so her!” Mom opened her letter first and wept. Upon enlarging her eyes, she said, “She left me her silk scarf.”

Grinning, I took it out of the closet. As Mom read Grandma’s words, she wound the cloth around herself:

“For you to think of me when you’re in need of consolation, my beloved daughter. I hope it makes you joyful and warm.

Dad’s letter was next. He patiently unfolded it and smiled as he read, “To my son-in-law, for the man who shares my passion for history.” This is for you, and it is from the collection of your late father-in-law. May it inspire the same level of enthusiasm in you.

She had presented him with a precious, one-of-a-kind book on ship models that had belonged to my late grandfather. Dad’s eyes were filled with delight as I handed it to him. His objective had been to acquire it, and Grandma had accomplished this.

Finally, it was my turn. I opened my letter with a racing pulse and trembling hands.

“My dear Nora,” I declared aloud, “I have been discreetly accumulating funds for years.” In order to facilitate your pursuit of your objectives, this is intended for you. Utilize it to the fullest, my darling.

We subsequently verified the bank account information she provided below, and the amount was more than enough to cover four years at a state school or a full first year at a prestigious institution.

She had bequeathed me her priceless book collection, which she had amassed over the course of many years, in addition to the money. She was cognizant of my enthusiasm for reading, and I was profoundly grateful.

Nevertheless, it was not the conclusion. Grandma directed me to inspect the diminutive velvet purse located at the base of her closet. It contained her jewelry collection, which consisted of a delicate necklace, vintage earrings, and a striking pearl ring.

Grandma had instructed Mom and me to distribute these items as we deemed appropriate, as they had been admired by all the women in my family.

We convened around the tree and, of course, began discussing Grandma after she concluded her remarks and presented us with our gifts. We both wept and chuckled.

Despite the fact that my parents gave me their gifts and shared some with each other, I was aware that nothing we received that year would come close to Grandma’s surprise. In a sense, she extended her hospitality to us for one more Christmas.

I decided to enroll in college in our state after graduating from high school this year. Therefore, the funds she conserved would enable me to complete my education without incurring any debt. I am acutely aware of my privilege in the present day.

We will be spending our second Christmas without her, and it is difficult. However, I can now see her mortality, as my aunt attempted to clarify. I do not experience a crisis regarding the meaning of the universe or the concepts of life and mortality.

I also regard existence as a gift. We are present. The memories we create are our own. There is affection between us. We develop. We acquire knowledge, and subsequently, we vanish, regardless of the intended meaning. And it is possible that we will leave a legacy of love to those who loved us just as magnificently.