...and when you have finished her quilt, she'll be able to wrap herself around you and hold you close.
Your lovely story has left me weepy.
(I have my grandmother's scissors, also. I remember when she gave them to me - the enormity of the moment... what it Meant. A woman doesn't give away her scissors...
("These are the best scissors," she quietly said. She was smiling and her eyes were glistening and she looked closely into mine. I was only able to manage a, "Thank You, Gramma," and hold her hand.
(The scissors are shiny stainless steel, just a few stains on them; and, in tiny writing, she has her name, "Hazel," written on a torn scrap of paper and taped to the 'joint' of them. They hang on my pegboard. I just used them yesterday. She was right, you know... they Are the best scissors.)