My father was stationed in Asia, and then Europe, and for a long time he went to London for his work with the military, and while in these places he had most of his clothes custom made, beautiful suits, shirts, jackets and sweaters with ivory, tortoise shell, and leather buttons.

After he died, my mother had the idea that the buttons were worth something, and in her grief, she cut off every button before giving his clothes away.

Standing in our farmhouse, in the doorway of her bedroom, I watched her pile his clothing on the bed, and cut off every single button, from every jacket, shirt, and suit, with a kitchen scissors.

Then, I went upstairs to my own room, opened my closet and every drawer, and did the same. 

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