In the end, it comes down to a box of photos, your favourite rings, (I remember you, wearing them, when I was little) our old kitchen table, where you and Dad, I imagine, had coffee, now and then, before I was born. (what I remember are the endless fights)
In the end, it comes down to going through your stuff – all of it – through all your drawers, cabinets, wardrobes, closets, your garage, your basement, the second basement, your cupboards –
I never realized, we collect – (What is going to happen with it, after we have left?
Is this supposed to be my lesson in impermanence?) what to keep, what to throw away. (Every piece, we threw away, hurt) To give things away to people, who knew you, who were happy with your stuff, felt really good! To hear my brother destroy most of your cups and plates with a hammer, …