When I was a young girl I craved predictability. 

I suppose most of us find comfort in the traditions of life and look for patterns in everywhere. When my brother and I went to visit our Grandmother, I would give her a hug and look to see whether or not she was wearing her locket. Somehow she always wore it when we came to visit.

It was very unique, made from silver, and with a spider on the front and garnets for eyes. I would always ask her to open it for me and she would point to the two pictures inside, "There you are and there is your brother!" Somehow I knew that I was loved because I thought it was so special for her to have a locket with a picture of me inside. 

My grandmother took really great care of all of her jewelry, she valued them and cherished their origin stories.

After she passed peacefully last year, my mother and I looked through her jewelry months later and shared stories of her and all the women in our family who passed on their jewelry. I really wanted that beloved locket and asked my mom if it was alright. She said, "of course, I gave that to her." She found it in a flea market of all places shortly after we were born and likely was also the one who put the picture of my brother and me inside, so her mother could cherish and keep her grandchildren close to her heart.