“Just toss it!” is the rallying cry of these weeks. But some items we simply can’t bring ourselves to discard. 9 writers share

For years I wondered why my mother held on to that dress, its quiet presence the incarnation of every parent’s worst nightmare.

I vaguely remember that Rosh Hashanah night. At six years old I was entirely preoccupied with my Yom Tov finery: mirror shiny patent leather shoes, new dress with the lingering scent of the clothing store. I hardly noticed my younger sister, quick as a thief, climb an imposing dining room chair and lean in to the trembling flames of the New Year.

Was it her screech of shock and pain that caught my attention? Do I actually recall her dress alight, remember my race to summon Daddy, terror nipping at my heels? Or was it a story told and retold until, emboldened, it declared itself a memory.