The True Purpose of Her Request
The money she asked for wasn’t for herself. It was for us.
Each little box held something deeply personal — a keepsake, a memory, a message. Some contained knitted bookmarks she had made during long winter evenings. Others had faded photographs, old recipe cards, or tiny trinkets that meant something only the receiver would understand.
“I didn’t need the money for myself,” she wrote. “I wanted to leave everyone something small to remember me by — not because I’m leaving, but because love should always be shared while we still can.”
I sat at that kitchen table for hours, reading her words over and over, surrounded by the gentle hum of her old refrigerator and the faint scent of her homemade bread.
