They are not just things to me

At someone's suggestion, I have decided to make a memory quilt from some of John's clothes. Today with the help of a dear friend, we chose some clothes - some of John's favorite shirts, some of his scrub [work] pants. Tomorrow I will call the quilter and we will make arrangements to start.
I still can't bring myself to get rid of the rest of John's clothes. It's a step I am not ready to make. I know John doesn't need the clothes any more. But I need them. I need to look at them and feel them. I need to have the reassurance that he was here, that we were here, that we lived and loved and our life together was real. And good.
I don't have John here with me any more. All I have are things - things that he touched, things that he wore, things that he used. But they are his things. And now they are mine. And while it may seem silly or morbid to some that I hold on to these things so desperately, they are all I have left of him physically. And as long as I have them, I have a part of John, too.