My sister-in-law, folding a blanket nearby, let out a short scornful breath.

“That old thing?

Mabel, it’s filthy.

It’s falling apart.

What on earth do you want with it?”

I did not have an answer I could give them.

I could not have explained it if I had tried.

I only stood there in the middle of that busy, grieving, greedy room and held the ruined old pillow against my chest with both arms, the way you hold a child, and I would not put it down.