Talisman

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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Nana. Grandmother, great-grandmother, and great-great grandmother. She lived to be 102. Sadly, she lived in a far distant place in her mind the last ten years or so. She recognized no one, not even her beloved son or grandsons, nor the daughter who cared for her so faithfully. Not her fault. Alzheimer’s is a thief, a horrible vandal that destroys the brain. It is the long goodbye. The last coherent words she spoke were in German, her native tongue, although she had spoken English fluently for most of her life.

With her eyes closed, speaking to someone only she could see, she whispered, “Ich liebst du.”

Many years later, her grandson’s wife brought him a golden locket on a long gold chain. She’d kept it safely in a small box for many years, hoping that someday there would be a granddaughter of her own who would cherish such a talisman.

“Can you repair the clasp, Honey? It’s fine except for that, and I thought maybe our granddaughter would enjoy having this. She likes old-fashioned things, and this is special.”

He did repair it. He also fixed the little pin that started playing the music when the locket was opened. Inside, there was a tiny picture of Nana’s husband, who had died long before she did.

Their granddaughter did indeed cherish the locket, understanding the value of something that had survived so many generations. And here’s the music it played. Not the words, just a music-box rendition of the melody: