In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

50 I Began With Frayed Sweaters I began with frayed sweaters, then the stained shirts, dated jackets—it seemed easy, as if I had grabbed the right thread for the quick unraveling. The second stage, when each garment got weighed before it was folded and packed to be given away, should have foretold the final phase. What was it about the finer fabrics, the camel hair jacket, the tweed, the raw silk, the slim leather boots hardly worn, that made it so hard to discard them? Plenty and deprivation lay side by side. He held fast to everything, wore some clothes threadbare, saved the favorites by scant use, leaving them less bent to his shape. I could give up at last what most reminded me of him, but couldn’t bear to lose the good suits he never wore. Yet they fit no one I knew, no friend, no family member, as if they waited only his return and if he came back, they’d urge him to put them on, enjoy the wanton pleasure of their feel against his skin, teach him what he could not learn before. ...

Share