This was my grandma’s sewing box. I played with it all of the time at her house when we were kids, making Barbie blankets and pillows. My sister and I spent pretty much every weekend there. When I took up sewing after our first daughter was born 8 years ago, my grandma gave me her sewing box because she could no longer use it. Now every time I call her she tells me how much she wishes we were kids again playing Barbies at her house. My sweet grandma – I know our conversations by heart because she repeats the same “script” every time. She asks how her babies are, asks how many pets we have, tells me all about her new cat. “Give my babies a kiss for me, and give Evan a hug.” She’s always been forgetful (I remember teasing her about this before she was ever diagnosed with alzheimer’s). It’s just gotten so heartbreakingly bad the last year.
