Toronto, August 30, 2026
Loose things
“That’s one of Ellen’s coats,” said Cynnie. We were milling about in the lobby of Toronto’s Roy Thompson Hall during a concert interval. “Over there,” said Cynnie, discreetly indicating an elegant woman on the other side of the room wearing a green coat.
Ellen was a friend of ours who had died a couple of years before. She was always beautifully dressed. When she died, her husband invited her friends to take whatever of Ellen’s clothes they wanted. The clothes flew out of her closet, particularly the designer coats. From time-to-time afterwards we saw Ellen’s coats, here and there, at parties or public events. These sightings were a welcome reminder of a person we had loved.
What is left when you die? In a recent Endgame I mentioned a 2026 book by the historian Thomas Mullaney, How We Disappear. This complex and poignant book is about the effect of entropy on personal information. (Entropy is the natural tendency of systems and artefacts to disperse and disintegrate over time.) The effect “reaches across all space and time to erase or scatter any evidence of our existence.” Mullaney describes how loved ones, historians, archivists, biographers, etc., try to retain and organize the evidence of a dead person’s existence to make sense of it. These attempts fail, thwarted by entropy.
When Mullaney’s father dies, he goes into the dead man’s bedroom and his instincts as a historian immediately take over. “Don’t move a thing... Don’t throw anything away... Draw a map of the room the way it is now.” Mullaney tells us that archivists and historians call this the “original order.” Moving loose things around, he writes, “can do irreversible damage to the interpretability of the materials...”
When someone dies there are always loose things left behind susceptible to interpretation. This is true even if the deceased tried hard to clean things up before crossing the Styx. If they lived in the epistolary age, long since over, loose things might include letters. I’ve thrown most of my stuff out, but for no good reason I have kept just about every letter I ever received—there are hundreds, organized by date and stored in shoe boxes, waiting to be interpreted, but of no interest to anyone including me. I know a wise person, not trapped by silly sentimentality, who burnt her late husband’s early love letters soon after he died.
Clothes are loose things. Here’s a picture of my father taken in 1953 in the back garden of our house in North Finchley, London. Note the sports jacket.
And here is the same sports jacket worn by me in 2026, seventy-three years later.
I don’t have much that belonged to my father, but I have this jacket. Why did I keep it? I don’t know. Maybe it’s “a shining artefact of the past.” (From Leonard Cohen’s song “Everybody Knows,” although Cohen had something quite different in mind.) What story is the sports jacket telling?
After my friend Murray died more than two years ago, his widow asked if I wanted a white linen sports jacket he had bought in Nantucket. I was happy to have it, a keepsake of our deep friendship. Recently I wore the jacket for the first time, to a family wedding near Montreal. Doing so seemed to have some meaning, but what was it? Was I preserving the memory of Murray, or was I doing the opposite, scattering evidence of his existence by moving loose things around? And what was the alternative? Solemnly hanging the jacket in a closet and forgetting about it?
“Don’t move a thing... Don’t throw anything away... Draw a map of the room the way it is now.” This is not possible. But how do we preserve and cherish the memory of those we loved who have died?
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Some reader comments on Endgame #137 (“Old people hoarding money and power”)
From Bob Rae: “You’re paying for our next meal together. It’s only fair.”
David Wolinsky weighs in: “Actually I don’t believe we geezers are hoarding. Speaking for myself, by the time we reach my late stages, we are no longer capable of enjoying all the things we always coveted, travel, rich foods, crowded casinos or concerts, exciting events and fancy gadgets, so we enjoy passing on our assets to our children so we can at least enjoy these things vicariously. It’s life’s little joke.”
Some practical advice from Sher Singh: “A few thoughts in response to an interesting piece: (1) First and foremost, we should have spent, or should continue to spend, our resources on our children to ensure that they become self-sufficient and never need handouts later in life. The operative word here is ‘need.’ (2) We should indeed, as we are aging, hoard reasonably sufficient resources to cover our estimated needs in the years we reasonably expect to live. We should rely on our common sense, not on the investment industry for advice on this ... because in their own best interests, no number of millions is enough. (3) We should retain control of this hoard and not surrender that control until and unless we have to ... and then, and only then, hand over the strings to one we can truly depend on. In my Punjabi tradition, ‘one who is well fed’ is highly recommended. (4) If we’ve brought up our children well, they’ll rise to the occasion if we find ourselves in an unexpected emergency. (5) Keeping all of the above in mind, do get help for some good estate planning.”
An interesting personal account from Liz Thompson: “I’m 78, still mobile more or less, mentally alive, read a lot, and have NHS [National Health System] meds for arthritis (anticipated, both sides of family), and other minor problems (migraine mainly). Occasionally I think of how much time left, but not in terms of anxiety. My daughter lives with me, calls me to order when necessary, and conducts her own life as she wishes. I’m aware that this could be better, however, and so is she. But we don’t discuss it as it leads to stress on both sides, although she has not been inclined to live separately from me. Income has always been sufficient, but more recently the sale of our previous house brought a reasonable lump sum now in a Building Society account. Regular income covers the cost of current private house rent etc., and we have not drawn on the savings. Your comments on money kept untouched in case of need struck home, although it is not a great amount. We have had idle conversations over buying a small house, nearer the countryside, but not seriously. One thing I have always done is regular donations to charities and causes that deserve help, my parents having taken a similar approach when I was growing up. Both I and my daughter volunteer at community centres, assisting or taking part in group activities. My son and his family have similar involvements where they live, including help with disability matters. A lot of local people work in the centres helping, bringing food in, cooking, and giving advice. Trained nurses and advisors come, there are books given that people can borrow, writing and poetry groups, children’s activities, walking groups with leaders, and council workers who help with housing problems and questions. I know that I am a lot better off than many of my colleagues there, and we try to take surplus books, clothes, and household things there for both the centre and people who need them. One thing I did anticipate, I am paying for my funeral in advance! Seemed like a sensible move at least, and if I live to 90, I stop paying....... Thank you for your interesting article, I found it very true, having read a lot of accounts in my lifetime so far! I shall endeavour to make sure I do not keep more than I got in the first place from the house sale.”
The last word goes to John: “I’ve thought about this a lot since becoming older. It was originally provoked by John Sutherland’s book “The War on the Old” and the companion volume, “The War on the Young”. I think that fear of death may well be transformed into the belief that wealth will save us from the Grim Reaper—we have lived in a society which validates consumption and spending wholeheartedly and, understandably, equates wealth with power, so I wouldn’t be surprised if such matters play out in this fashion.”
Your article reminds me of a wooden sign on a "talking tree" in a 700 year old forest monastery in Chiang Mai, Thailand at the foot of Doi Suthep. The monks hang wooden signs with short proverbs (in Thai and English) from the trees along the footpaths: "Cut yourself some slack. Remember, 100 years from now, all new people." Sandy Horodezky
My father passed last year. I brought home some of his old shirts as well as a few pairs of shorts he wore in the last two months of his life. The shorts fit me well, and although his shirts are a tad long AND the cut is decidedly a guy's... I wear them regularly. There is a certain poignancy to the experience because I recall clearly buying the shorts and the shirts; I remember the visuals of him dressed in those clothes; it's all very vivid and precious at the moment.