My Inheritance

I received part of my "inheritance" from my mom the other day. My mom is 84 and aside from a hearing loss, she is amazingly healthy and active. I should be so lucky when I am her age. Anyway, when my dad passed away in 2003 at the age of 82 (he died while working in the yard at their house), my mom knew she couldn't manage the upkeep of the house by herself, so she and my older sister combined households and bought a lovely town home not far from me. Since there are only so many housewares that two women need, they have gradually been paring their duplicate items and things they'll never use. My sister called me and asked if I would like to have my mom's silverware set. She knew they would never use it, but couldn't bear to donate it. I told her I would gladly take it.
I have a very nice set of (stainless) flatware that my husband bought for me when we were first married. Unlike some people who register for everything from dishes to an iron when they get married, we knew that if we registered, we would probably end up with a few bread plates and a sugar spoon. So, we furnished our own things a bit at a time. I never even wished for "real" silverware.
My mom's service is not expensive, but it is indeed silver plated. I can verify this by the number of times we pulled it out to polish it before Thanksgiving or Christmas. I used to love that process, rubbing the silver cream all over the tarnish to uncover the brilliant shine. That was the official kick-off to the holidays. In later years, she started storing it in these bags made from tarnish resistant fabric.
The silver was wrapped up tight in the bags and plastic. As I gingerly started unwrapping it, I noticed that there are spots on the back of spoons that have had the finish rubbed off. It has never been through a dishwasher and was always hand washed, but it is showing some wear. The funny thing is that none of that really mattered. I pulled out the serving pieces and was immediately reminded of turkeys, cooked to a golden brown, of cranberry sauce served in a crystal bowl and a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes with a pat of butter melting on the top. It wasn't really about the food. It was waiting for my brothers and sister to arrive, the laughs and stories that we shared at the table, lying around in the living room afterward, in a triptophan induced coma waiting for the pumpkin pie to be served.
My dad is gone now, my brothers live 10 hours away and I haven't seen them for a couple of years and we all live different lives now. I have my own spoons and forks and my own family. I had been feeling like there was something missing from my kids lives, that maybe we didn't have enough traditions. Now I realize that even something as humble as a spoon can carry a great deal of tradition, love and memories. That will be their inheritance.