When I was a child, my grandmother was someone I looked up to. I mean this less literally. His arrivals at the front door were cause for celebration. I jumped into his open arms as a big smile appeared on his face, before a hearty laugh escaped from his chest. Grandma June was more than just a loving grandmother, she was a visual spectacle. Her hair was always freshly curled, her pink lipstick was perfectly applied, and her nails were constantly changing color. Each visit meant a more vibrant outfit than the last. Every aspect of her was captivating. Yet what fascinated me the most was its extensive jewelry collection. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get the original essay. Jewelry covered her body, extending from her ears to her fingers, always matching. My favorite piece, the one she always wore, was her gold charm bracelet. The chain, composed of oval-shaped rings alternating between smooth and rigid textures, barely fit her wrist. The entire time she had the bracelet, only two charms were attached to the chain. One is a ballerina with a hollowed out center, ready to accommodate a foot inside, with small engravings on the side similar to embroidery. On the tip is a delicate pink colored gemstone. The other is a wishing well, with a triangular roof that has markings that look like wood. Below is the spindle attached to a handle that protrudes outward (which can sting your hand painfully). Both stand atop the circular brick well. I often think back to the times I spent with her in the living room of her bed and breakfast in Tsawwassen. There we sat on cushions on either side of the glass coffee table. She was looking into my eyes, waiting to tell me to go fishing, while I looked at the gold chain around her wrist. Our visits took place while we played cards. However, most of my time was spent watching her bracelet slide up and down her arm. The games ended at dinner time. Grandma June always made my favorite dish, Annie's macaroni and cheese. I stood in the corner of the kitchen while she thoroughly stirred the pasta while the charms swung. Once dinner was finished, it was time to go to bed. With a happy stomach, I climbed into one of the twin beds in the upstairs bedroom. As she tucked me in, she kissed my forehead and gently ran her hand over my face. The dancer's shoe was still running down my cheek. These visits lasted most of my childhood, until she became ill. Dementia meant that everything about her had withered away; she was a body without a soul. The last years of his life were spent in hospitals and nursing homes. She no longer had the ability to maintain her appearance, including putting on her jewelry. The bracelet disappeared while she was ill. In fact, I almost forgot about it, until my aunt (Grandma June's executor) gave it to me. This was somewhat surprising, but comforting, because it meant she was taking note of my silent fascination. My aunt smiled and placed a small gift box in my hand, as if it was something I should be happy to have. I was. But the circumstances were far from ideal. I smiled as I looked at the gold bracelet in my hands, my eyes watering and my lips trembling slightly. I struggled to put it on, calling on Aunt Shelly for help. At first it didn't fit properly, the chain.