To have memories

Found this little treasure on the floor today. It should be tucked away safely on the bookshelf but think a certain little lady got interested. It's my paternal grandmother's "bookmark" album (not sure about translation here), neatly dated "1936" by my grandmother. Her parents passed away the year after, both within a year. She was 12 and moved in with her eldest sister. It breaks my heart. This was probably one of the few things she had left as a memory from her childhood before growing up too quickly. And now I'm the custodian of the album, which is resting on a bookshelf in a flat in London; to once again be admired by the great-granddaughter. A little bit of family history.