Love measured in linen

My grandmother lived in a time when it was customary for parents to put together a trousseau (I believe I'm using that word right) for when their daughter got married. This would be mostly linen; bed linen, table linen, bathroom linen. 

My grandmother lived a life of limited means. Both her pension and my grandfather's were ridiculously small (as a lot of pensions in Portugal are) and yet she still managed to put food on the table, pay the bills and save a little for a rainy day. I remember that for years she used to save all the €1 coins in a biscuit tin and when the tin was full she would go out and buy the best her money could buy for my trousseau. Your mother isn't here to do it, so I'll do it for her, she would say.

My grandmother passed away six years ago. She had my trousseau moved before she died, so I never came into contact with it until a year ago when I decided to clear some cupboards at my dad's.

And then it hit me. The full scale of it. There were dozens and dozens of bed linen sets, most of them embroided by hand. There were tablecloths made of the finest handwoven linen and dozens of bathroom linen sets, some embroided with my initials. Let's not even talk about the small stuff like tea towels! All of it put together would be more than enough to furnish a medium sized hotel. No word of a joke there.

I wonder how many times that biscuit tin had to be filled over how many years in order for me to have all that treasure. Because it is a treasure. It's a small fortune made of cloth.

I couldn't possibly keep everything. There was too much of it, I live abroad, and I would never use some of the stuff she bought after so much sacrifice. I felt bad for letting it go to waste in a dark cupboard, so I donated it to people who she knew took good care of me in my formative years and who would cherish those expensive items. I would've certainly burnt a hole in one of the finest tablecloths the moment I tried to iron it, so you see my point.

As I sorted through everything I felt a wave of unspoken love wash over me. Every single item had been carefully selected and paid for after so much sacrifice. That bathroom linen set meant she could've spent more on her grocery shopping that month. Each tea towel meant a walk that could've been the bus fare instead. Some items were by themselves enough to pay for a short holiday. 

Even though most of them weren't my cup of tea I loved and cherished every single thing for the love they spoke of. The love she professed for years and that I never bothered to listen to was there, punching me in the face. It could not - it would not - be ignored. And for all of it I'm thankful.