My son’s old lunchbox was on the charity-shop shelf

Dear Delyara, I donated my son’s belongings after he died because the house had become impossible to move through. I kept photographs and a few clothes, but the lunchbox, schoolbag, books, and toys went to a charity shop across town. That was four years ago. Today, I entered a different charity shop and saw his lunchbox on a shelf. Blue plastic, faded rocket sticker, his initials scratched underneath because three boys in his class had the same one. I knew every mark. There was still a tiny dent where he dropped it from the car. I bought it for £2.50. The volunteer said it was a good size and asked whether it was for my grandson. I said yes. At home, I opened it and found crumbs in the hinge. They cannot be my son’s crumbs. Someone else owned it after him, packed another child’s sandwiches, carried it through another kitchen. That should make the object less precious. Instead, I feel comforted that it continued being useful after our life stopped. I washed it and placed it in the cupboard. I have no grandson. Tomorrow, I may put my own lunch inside and take it to work. I do not know whether that would be strange. I only know I am tired of grief turning every object into something too sacred to touch.