We found it difficult to throw out anything that belonged to our mother, after she was ill. Scraps of paper with her handwriting… the last bottle of gin.
We lived in her house and gradually used up the things that were hers. I tried to record the minutiae of differences and similarities I came across, in case I forgot.
I used her makeup even though we had different skin tones; bottles of her expensive conditioner.
I photocopy packaging bit by bit, as items are finally finished, keeping a low-fi inventory of everything. As I consume something else a further photocopy is added, and so on. I move forward, thing by thing.