"Emily, what are you doing in there?" my mom asked as she knocked softly on the door.

"I’m just lying on my bed mom" I replied.

"Don’t you have homework to do?"

"Yes, I’ll start on it in a little while. I just want to relax right now."

"Well don’t relax too long. You told me you have a French test tomorrow and I’m sure you need to study."

"I do mom, but I don’t think I could concentrate right now."

It had been a tough day. As usual I had a lot of homework, and a lot of things to do. My room is always the first place I go when I get home from school. It’s filled with things that help me relax and forget all the things I have to do. I love sitting in my room, listening to the distorted music coming from the music box on my dresser. The music comforts me, especially when I’m disturbed. Sometimes I take my grandmother’s necklace my grandfather gave me and finger through every charm. I allow the small tarnished silver locket with Grandma Ruth’s initials engraved, the oval pocket watch which had died years before along with my grandmother, and all the rest of the unique and special charms, to still my emotions and give me strength. Whenever I hold the necklace I feel as if everything has been lifted from my shoulders, and I don’t have a care in the world. My grandmother died right before I was born, but I feel like I have always known her. She’s everywhere to me.

She’s all around my room. I keep the soft yellow baby pillow she made for my brother on my bed. Sometimes I pick it up and trace the small brown dog stitched onto it. Grandma Ruth made it for my older brother when he was little, but ever since I found it in his closet it has been in my possession. Just knowing that Grandma Ruth once made the very pillow that rests in my hands always gives me a positive outlook on life. It makes me feel as if I can take on the world.

When I was younger I would lie in bed late at night, unable to go to sleep. I would find myself in my parents’ room wanting to wake them up. It always seemed like my dad wouldn’t be asleep either, and as soon as he would hear me he would raise his head and without saying anything get up and guide me back into my room. I would lie down and he would pull the covers up over my body until they were covering everything but my head. Then he would lie down beside me and tell me stories about his childhood, stories about Grandma Ruth. I remember closing my eyes and picturing everything he said, and I would play it though in my mind just as if I were in the story.

Sometimes I think I would lie in bed and make myself stay awake just so my dad would tell me more stories about his childhood, especially Grandma Ruth. I loved his stories.

My favorite story was about when he was in a spelling bee in third grade. His goal was to win the spelling bee and get a trophy or a medal. He was so excited he didn’t know what to do. He said he could look out into the crowd of people watching and spot Grandma Ruth’s glowing eyes; he knew how proud she was of him. But when my dad received his award he was disappointed because it was just a small pendant, nothing special. My dad said all the way home from the spelling bee Grandma Ruth couldn’t stop looking at the pendant and talking about how proud she was. He didn’t know why there was all the excitement over a small charm; it didn’t mean anything to him. He gave the pendant to her and from that day on she always wore it on the necklace. What was a meaningless pendant to my dad really meant something to Grandma Ruth. The charm is still on her necklace, in her music box, in my room. It is now something that is special to me.

The stories and pictures in my house have helped me develop a detailed image of Grandma Ruth. I can smell her distinct scent of peppermint and feel her thick, smooth hair. The mental picture I have of her may not be completely accurate but carrying it helps me know that someone special will always be in my heart.

My parents named me Emily Ruth after my dad’s sister, Emily, and my dad’s mother, Ruth. Everybody always comments on the name Ruth and talks about how it fits me and is such a pretty name. Little do they know that I couldn’t care less that it fits me, or that it’s a pretty name, I’m just honored to carry her name. Since I share the same name as her I know that she will never escape my grasp. I know she will always be there whenever I need her, but I still carry pain and longing of wanting to be with her.

It’s painful to know that I never made memories with her. The heaviest thing I carry is knowing that I can’t carry the memories of Christmas mornings with her like my cousins do, and I will never carry a photograph of me sitting on the swing with her like my brother does. I would love to be able to have living memories of Grandma Ruth. It would be wonderful to know exactly what kind of personality she had. In some ways I feel as if I always have known her, but not in a living sense. She is a part of me. She lives deep down in me and will always be there.

"Emily!" my mom yells startling me.

"Yes, mom?"

"I think you have spent enough time relaxing, it’s time to get to work."

"Ok mom, just give me a minute."

I wake up from my thoughts and return the unique necklace back into its special place. I know that it will always be there when I need to escape the long, stressful days ahead. And even when I am not in my room fingering through the charms, I always carry it, along with all the loving emotions it conveys.

I’ll always carry Grandma Ruth in my heart.