After my Grandma passed away last year, all I requested of hers were a few things with sentimental value: a Virgin Mary figurine, a couple of aprons, a stack of cookbooks, a small milk glass dish, and her sewing basket.
Many years ago, she knocked on my sewing room door, which butted against her kitchen in the basement, and invited me in. "I have something for you." She had laid out the contents of her sewing basket on her bed. We went through it together, putting back what she thought she might still need and giving me the rest. Old buttons, half empty spools of thread, a little wooden needle holder, a patchwork pin cushion.
Afterwards, the basket was tucked back in its usual spot behind the couch. She rarely opened it. Every once in a while, I'd thread a needle for her but mostly either my Mom or I offered to do any repairs or mending for her. Now that basket sits in my sewing room. I open it occasionally, just to see and touch all the little notions and supplies and think of her.