Grandma's Secret Closet

Hi, friend. Thanks for stopping by. I wrote this for older kids but I'm not sure what age. What ages do YOU think are appropriate? 

Grandma's Secret Closet

My grandma had a closet for coats that had a high shelf. We were not allowed in the closet except to get our coats. When grandma said something like that, she meant it and was very stern about it. She often said, “Everyone needs a secret place, and that’s mine.” She was serious but had a glint in her eye that I didn’t notice until I was older.

She seemed to work magic with the things she brought out of that closet and she enjoyed it. When grandma enjoyed something, she changed to someone very nice.

One day, my younger brother was crying because he hurt himself. Nothing could calm him down. First, grandma did what she always did when we got hurt. She cleaned the sore spot, put medicine on it, and put a bandage of some kind on it. When she was finished, she always said the same thing, "There. Now you'll be fine." And we always were fine – and my brother was fine.

Before we left her house, she would go to the closet and pull out a bag. Sometimes she gave us candy or a small gift, like a small chalk board. She always included a hug. When grandma hugged, it was a big, long hug – sometimes with a kiss on the cheek – and all wrongs were forgiven.

Grandma's closet seemed magical. In fact, I used to call it her "magic" closet but she told me there is no such thing as magic. It's just that when something really special happens and maybe surprises us, it can seem like magic. Grandma didn’t fool around with silly ideas.

One day, when I was sad and angry, nothing worked. My best friend's grandma had died. Grandma tried talking about it and giving me snacks but, though I felt better for a moment, the sadness didn't go away. 

Then she got very quiet. I sat at the table, staring off into space. After a while - I don't know how long - she asked me to sit next to her. Without saying a word, she put her arm around me and we just sat there, staring out the window. It was raining and that made me even sadder. 

When she finally did talk, she quietly said, "You know, sometimes there is nothing special that can make our sadness go away. We just have to live through it - like we live through the rain. We can't make the rain stop but, eventually it will. We can't make the sadness go away but it will stop or least not seem as bad.”

Now that I am older, I realize a lot of things about my grandma. She was sad a lot a times but never asked for hugs. Maybe our long hugs from her were for her, too. She was sick sometimes but no one made her feel better. I wish I knew then what would have made her feel better.

The last gift I received from her didn’t come from the closet. It was a better understanding about what she really was and what she did. I realized that she seemed so amazing because of how she made us feel, but actually she did ordinary things to make us happy, and so consistently showed she loved us that the effect was wonderful. I learned from her that small things, done with love, and taken seriously, make a difference.

I also learned that truth matters. Her closet wasn’t magical, her actions were not extraordinary, and she never encouraged us to believe in anything artificial. She offered realism and, with that, real love.

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