When the first of my grandmothers to die did so just over three years ago, I got her Vera Bradley tote bag. It was in the days after her funeral, possibly even the very next day, when cousins from out of town remained in town, that our freshly-widowed grandfather invited all of us over to go through her things together. He rightfully predicted that this would be at once a bonding experience for his far-flung progeny as well as a quick and collaborative way for him to distribute belongings of hers for which he had no use to those who might actually wear rather than merely appreciate them. Nobody could be upset, nobody could say, “Hey, where’s that Chanel jacket?” or harumph, “I didn’t get anything I wanted,” if we all did it together.