I decided that today I would empty the three big suitcases and sort through whatever they held.
Clothes, mostly. Well-worn t-shirts and jeans. Casual business clothes, pants and shirts and shoes which I helped him purchase as he made the transition from college to work. He had no idea what to buy, and we had a lot of fun figuring it out together. Most of them will go to a shelter. Although he and his brother are twins, he was six inches taller and weighed about 30 pounds more.
I am keeping the fleece jackets. They fit me; I plan to snuggle into the memories when autumn comes.
Bedding. Some of it flannel sheets for twin beds, which we can use in this house for guest beds. Some of it the last sheets and quilt he used -- I don't want them.
Socks. Lots of perfectly good socks. I ask his brother whether he wants them. Does one want to wear the socks of one's dead brother? I don't know.
Boxers. You can't really give those away, can you? I recognize a number of them; I've often purchased packets of brightly patterned underwear as Christmas stocking gifts.
Some workbooks and craft items that may have belonged to his girlfriend. Another pile. I'll have to contact her when I'm finished.
Some artwork; some prints he purchased toward the end of his life. I like them very much; into a pile they go, for a someday pastor's study.
"They belonged to my son," I'll say when someone asks. I won't elaborate.