I was thinking about taking a break from writing about death and destruction as I deconstruct my wife’s closet, but it’s pretty much a constant and not really that much of a struggle. So, I’ll just keep on going. I’m finding all sorts of things. In a basket this morning, that was full of purses and bags, I found a small cache of undergarments. I have no idea why she put them there. Given her dementia, I can imagine neither did she. But it’s a pretty human thing to find because there was probably a point to the action in her mind and I can just picture her doing it because she liked order.

I’m also glad I resisted an initial urge just to dump as I got into the small stuff because the small stuff is where I’m actually having fun, looking at it, thinking about her, and planning on things to do with it. For instance, I have scraps of knitting she started along with a quilt square, and it would be easy to throw them out, but they’re actually evidence of a mind and spirit at work, and that’s pretty special. So, I’m talking to an artist friend who does great collages to see if we can work something up because that seems like a keepsake a grandchild might like eventually.

Then there’s all her sewing paraphernalia. She sewed a lot. I’ve gathered it all up. When we first got married, she did some amazing work on my Navy-issued blue chambray work shirts. She covered the yolk and pockets with material and made them stylish, at least to me. On my entertainment center, I’m wearing one in a nice picture I have of the two of us in our early days. I’m going to learn to sew, because it seems like fun, and I have some things that need sewing and my mother sewed as well and made stuff for me. Perhaps it’s in my blood. We’ll see. Maybe one day you might look at me and ask, where did you get that stylish shirt, and I’ll say, I made it, and you’ll be amazed. Maybe.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale