Frederick & Nelson are Dead

I realized today that when my grandmother dies, no one will ever tell me again the wonders of Seattle's greatest department store, Frederick & Nelson. After a nap on a quiet afternoon, no one will ever again offer me a lemon drop stuck to a mound of other lemon drops in a crystal bowl. No one will whisper her errands, counting them with each slender finger, as the clock ticks behind her head. No one will apologize for taking so long to answer the door because she just returned from the beauty parlor where she got her permanent. No one will make me a "Heidi" sandwich on a tin pie plate, open-faced, in the oven, for lunch.

I was waiting for the light to turn green at a stoplight, and I just realized that my grandmother is dying. Her generation is dying. In a matter of years, they will be extinct, like the surviving passengers of the Titanic. Like Salem's Puritans. Like the Druids. Like Socrates. In a matter of years, perhaps they will never have existed at all.

The light turned green, and I realized that my grandmother is a Giver.

Lois Lowry wrote a book for children about the concept of preserving human culture through memories--The Giver. The novel takes place in a world where everything is controlled and human beings make no choices of their own; even spouses and children are chosen for them. The Giver is an old, old man in a line of Givers, who at one time received the memories of human history, culture, and experience. The Giver's job is to solely bear the weight and wisdom of those memories--some full of pain and struggle, some full of joy and peace--and offer counsel to the community when the need arises. He is also responsible for transmitting all of the memories to a new Giver who will take his place when he passes.

This is what the old do. Their gifts are the memories they bear--crowns that they pass to us to wear in glory, and to pass on to those younger than us. This is history and culture--preserved jewels which either grow bright with care, or dull with neglect. My grandmother keeps memories that I don't even know about. If I don't pry them from her, who will know? How will she survive?

Write down everything. Write down the story of your notorious relative who committed the first murder on American soil. Write down the way the light seems to shine through your grandmother's skin. Write down how her voice sounds over the telephone. Write down every hole in her gloves, every rip in her sweater seams, every wrinkle on her plastic rain bonnet.

One day you, too, will be a Giver.