Thinking back to our metal-detecting days, I get an idea of how to keep Papa’s stuff safe. And I know that it’s wrong, but the need to hold on to the little pieces I have left of the people I love is overwhelming.

Once Grammy leaves for work, I run up the stairs and get the Strong Shoulder jar I got at the tag sale and unscrew the top. I line it with toilet paper to make a cushion on the bottom.

I go into Papa’s drawer and pick up the box where he kept his treasures. He called them memory shakers—things that reminded him of good times.

I go through the box and find Papa’s sterling silver pocket watch and rub the figure of the fisherman standing in a rowboat. He’s got an Irish cap just like Papa wore. The chain attached swings back and forth. I push the button, and the lid pops open. It’s still running. I swallow hard, thinking of the millions of times he opened that watch to check the tides. Gently, I place the watch in the jar.

I search the box for more treasures and find the round pieces of white metal that Papa thought were musket balls and two British half cents from Concord.

There is a pirate’s coin from Pirate’s Cove, the big mini golf place on 28. I’m pretty sure this is mine, so I slip it in my pocket. I smile, thinking this memory shaker must be about me.

There are some pins from General Electric because Papa’s father worked there with Olive’s father. They were friends, so Papa knew Olive his whole life.

There is a Strong Shoulder mason jar, but it’s only about three inches tall. Not much use for drinking tea. Jelly maybe? Except the lid has a slot in it. I think it’s a bank for coins.

A key chain that says DATSUN on it. I wonder what that is. I try to think if I’ve ever heard of Datsun, Massachusetts.

There are two little discs about the size of checkers. One says THE WHALE, and one says THE SHIP. I love them. They have ridges on the side like quarters do.

There is a scrimshaw knife with an etching of a great white and a message in a bottle in its stomach on it. I wonder where he got it. I wish I could ask him.

I find the lures that Papa made from old spoons and pieces of wood. I recognize the multicolored fish with the crooked eye. It was his first lure. He used to say, “This was the beginning of my acquisition of great wealth.” And then he’d lean back, laughing. He’d pull me close. He’d kiss the top of my head and say, “I don’t have a lot of digits in my bank account, but I’m a wealthy man indeed.”

Grammy is right. Holding his things makes me ache with the missing of him—and I understand what she meant about being sad when she sees them. But I feel more than that—the memories make me happy, too. I like thinking about him, and I’m happy that he was my papa. The happy and sad are like two hands clasped together. I wish I could share these feelings with Grammy.