Both post-war migrants, Mum from Poland, Dad from Egypt, they weren't particularly wealthy or materialistic. My sister Ariella and I packed up our parents' house in what I can only describe as a griefy blur.

They actually share the same Yahrzeit, the Jewish calendar anniversary of their deaths, a fact that comforts me, avowed atheism aside. It was exactly two years and one week to the hour after progressive dementia had claimed my dad. Email a 21-month breast cancer-induced nightmare, my beautiful mum died at home at approximately 3am on October 21, 2005.

What have you held on to after the passing of a loved one? If you'd like to share a story, we'd love to hear it. It was theirs and so you vow to treasure it forever. Whether or not you ever saw your loved one use or wear an item is inconsequential. From diamonds to deck chairs, at first nothing is too small or mundane to hang on to. When someone you love dies, everything they owned, everything they ever touched seems sacred. But it really can't anymore, and I don't know how to let go. I even bought a new one several years ago, convinced of the incumbent's imminent demise. So many times I prepared to grieve for an inanimate chunk of metal that, to be honest, Mum didn't even use that much. Many times in the past decade and a half, I thought it was on its last legs. It's a Sunbeam KE7500 type 606 and it's at least 18 years old. It was my mum's kettle and it has outlived her for 15 years. And despite the considerable fiscal challenges of 2020, I am solvent enough to purchase new small appliances if needed. In truth, the kettle's only power is bringing water to a boil, which is a kind of magic I guess. Why am I attached to a kettle? Is it magic? Can I not afford a new one? They're good questions. So I've just been switching it back on, mopping up the puddles and refusing to admit the obvious: the kettle is dying. Occasionally, the kettle also switches itself off mid-boil. I can never remember.Īs the water climbed its way to boiling and steam moistened the air, I tried to ignore the liquid leaking from the kettle's base and sliding over the counter to the floor. I'm not sure I even have a thought process that leads me through this morning ritual, or if muscle memory kicks in the second I get out of bed. When I woke today as every day, my cat softly batting my face as I hit snooze for the seventh time, I stumbled straight to the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea.

Youtube cat in the kettle