Last Thanksgiving both of John's parents ate at the table with us, Oliver bent over in a wheelchair, Rachel cupping her ear when people spoke to her. This year they were only in the conversation. I love picturing them in fresh conditions, bodies that are supple, a home that reflects their kindness. No doubt the gardens are splashed with color, and all manner of birds sit perched in the branches of fruit trees. 

But the house that kept them warm for the past fifteen years stands empty. Well, not quite. It is full of things they no longer need. The task of their seven children, four in laws, and three grandchildren last weekend was to pick up each book, china tea cup, and pair of vintage slacks to decide its future. I took back the quilts I made for them. The coverlets they have now are more lovely than I could ever design. The wedding dress she wore back in the forties was among the belongings we brought home in a cardboard box. Perhaps it will be part of another celebration one day. I chose the rolling pin, imagining the hundreds of pie crusts and Christmas cookies it smoothed into submission. I will store it next to the one from my Grandma Rose. 

Holding the personal possessions of another couple is an intimate endeavor. I sat at her sewing table, and rummaged through the elastic, zippers, and buttons. Some were new but more were carefully salvaged from old clothes, tell tale threads like dandruff. She no longer needs them, and will not mind that they are rehomed in puppets and doll clothes.

Her children fingered the glass salt cellar that sat on the table for ages. There was a long discussion about whether to keep the engraved silverware together, or divided. Each spoon and fork had a tiny ORO in curvy script. 

There was considerable interest in the tool shed. Wrenches, screwdrivers, pliers of every size were lined up on the pegboard. The only daughter that flew packed as many in her suitcase as she dared without looking like a security threat. John paused over the table saw that shaved off the tip of his finger in high school. No, he could do without it. 

There was talk about Rachel's ashes. By consensus it was decided that they would be sprinkled on the country road where they walked every day, on a hill beside the cornfields.