Objects of our grief

When a fire destroys a home, it's always a relief when people and pets escape unharmed. What really matters, of course, is that they are safe. Material objects can be replaced.

That is true. But some objects -- the ones that remind us of a loved one who has died -- really can't be replaced. These things may evoke a person's hobby, like my dad's collection of fossilized stones from Michigan that he didn't have a chance to finish polishing, or the person's presence, like the soft blue quilt that reminds my friend Cyrisse of her mom, who died recently of cancer. Wrapped in the quilt at night, Cyrisse can sense her mother's embrace.

Although it can be achingly sad, the act of going through a loved one's belongings can be an important part of saying goodbye. It can also turn into a memorable event.

After my grandmother, Eloise Smiley Bradley, died in Kansas City, Mo., in 1990, we found a trunk in her apartment filled with items that helped us chronicle her life. My cousins, aunt, and I gasped as we unwrapped and unfolded beautiful mementos from her 90 years of life, among them the tiara she wore on her wedding day to hold her veil, locks of her hair from before it turned white, lacy and embroidered linens, and a Bible presented by her future father-in-law when she was 15.

There was also a spectacular "crazy quilt" stitched in the late 1880s from hundreds of pieces of silk and velvet. That quilt, which was given as a wedding gift to my great-great grandparents, was in perfect condition -- as if meant to be found and cherished by us. It's now in my home as a colorful connection to my grandma Eloise and our family.

It is an object, yes. But it is irreplaceable.

Do you have a story about saying goodbye by going through a loved one's belongings? Let me know at goodbyes@rcn.com.