The downstairs roommate’s aunt died several weeks ago after a lingering illness. Both of my roommates were tapped to help clean out her house to prepare it for sale. It wasn’t just her house: it had been her parents house as well. Strata of clutter had been laid down by all three of the previous residents. The mother’s sewing was found untouched twenty-five years until days ago.
One of my roomies brought home a plastic bag of sewing notions. (See above). All these things had belonged to the mother. It’s a sad collection. Her husband died long before she did. There are so many disappointments. Packages of pins unopened, tiny spools of thread. Pictures. Badges. Clippings.The debris of her life carries her grief and loneliness to those who can feel it today.