Never is the brevity of life more palpable than when we are tasked with the job of packing up a loved one’s belongings. I started tackling the job last spring, about six months after Paul died. I remember thinking it would be difficult, that I might be asking for more grief. But it just felt like an everyday household chore – something that needed to be done. I began with his clothing, gathering up his t-shirts, sweaters, pajamas, shorts, jeans, casual pants, and socks. Working methodically – folding and stacking, folding and stacking – I let my mind wander. Was it too soon to remove his things from view? Would I regret this impulsive move to clear the space his clothes had filled for decades? As the stacks of clothing grew, so did a feeling of annoyance, even anger. I was focused on all the living Paul had done in those…