I handled that on my own because by then John had died, succumbing to a rare and aggressive cancer he’d learned he had only two years earlier. My mind being elsewhere, I figured I would flip the cushions so no one would notice, forgetting that both sides were in tatters.

I had a choice: Did I fix up Miss Bee, provider of comfort and anchor of my home and life with John? Or did I accept that she wasn’t worth fixing?

I don’t remember what made me decide to bite the bullet and order a new sofa, only that it happened fast. I knew what I wanted. It was just a matter of checking a few boxes online, entering my credit card number and clicking “Buy.”

All that was left was to arrange to have Miss Bee taken away. I called a junk removal service I liked because they would try to donate reusable items to charity or thrift shops. Miss Bee had a solid frame (not to mention a beautiful heart, as crazy as that sounds), so I hoped the right person could restore her to glory.

I prepared for the haulers’ arrival by moving a huge shelving unit near the front door to provide fuller access to the entry. I had recently bought the unit to hold sentimental objects I had accumulated with John over the years. Before I could move the shelves, I had to remove those objects: seashells from vacations, random pottery, wasps’ and hornets’ nests, incense holders, pitchers, jugs and vases.

I removed John’s grandmother’s metal salt-and-pepper shakers in the shape of two birds on a branch and her gold vase with ornate floral etching (the one John’s mother keeps hinting that she wants back). I removed the simple wooden box that holds a portion of John’s ashes. Made by my carpenter brother-in-law, the box also holds clippings from John’s hair and beard, a few trinkets and a small bag of our first dog’s ashes, because she was John’s favorite little girl.