This is my Grandfather. He died a few years back around this time of year. This photo pretty much sums up his character; laid back with cigarette in hand, a few days of unshaven whiskers on his perpetually tanned face and cleaning a mess of fish he caught that day. He was not very wealthy but always had enough of anything to go around for those who needed. Suffice it to say that when he died there was no hidden treasure to be passed around for the children and grandchildren. I flew home to be with my family and attend his funeral in Florence, South Carolina and stayed in his room and even slept in his bed. I helped my Nanny and "Queenie" (who nursed him til he died) clean out his bedroom and gave away what clothes weren't tattered or outdated. As we combed through the life of my sweet Papa, I came across an old fashioned shaving brush. The kind that lathered up shaving soap back when people shaved with one blade rather than the four to five on the shavers and razors you get today. At the time I just thought the brush was cool and remembered pretending to shave when I was younger in his sink with a bladeless razor and lather up my face just like he would with that very brush. It never occurred to me when I was young and playing in his sink that this brush would provide such a profound sense of memory for me when I saw and continued to use it. My Nanny gave me a ring of his that was gold with a missing stone that probably fell out while he was working in his garden or reeling in fish. I had my birthstone put into this ring and of course appreciated it dearly. Though the one item of his that illicits sessions of happy tears that I cannot sustain is that shaving brush. It touched his face thousands of times and now it it is mine. I think of him now when I shave and although I should probably have a clean shaven face more often, I do love thinking of him and how precious he was to me when I look in the mirror and take the time to clean up. As I grew older our visits were less intimate and more adult , but he always told me he loved me and would hug me as if I were still that little kid at his sink pretending to shave. By asking my Nanny for that brush, I unconsciously created a routine that allows me to be thankful for my Grandfather. So today, three years later, it hit me how some of the most valuable things you "inherit" have no price tag.
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