Last night somewhere between darkness and dawn, I awoke with the overwhelming need to check my husband's pockets…In the left pocket of his favourite blue blazer was a card. The card was simple with a heart on the outside and no inscription inside…I know he wore this blazer on his birthday...the last day he could pretend that somehow he would make it through this terrible challenge...I am amazed as I receive his final gift to me...At the time that I needed it most, David found a way to once again show me his heart.

The pink outfit is from a skating show Donna participated in during her teens and is what brings back the most precious time of her short, but much loved, life...No matter how ill Donna was, she always seemed to find peace on the ice…A parent's biggest fear when a child is lost is that they will be forgotten, not by the parent but by other people. Normally you live on by your children's memories...Now Donna can only live on by us talking about her, remembering her, mentioning her...She did exist and still does to us and the people that loved her.

This is the skirt my sister, Lisa, wore for my 30th birthday celebration with family. I have very fond memories of that evening…I remember thinking she looked really great that night…Living without Lisa: It's still new and since she and I haven't lived in the same city in about twenty years, in some ways it doesn't feel very different. Except that it is...It feels weird to be two now instead of three Bissett kids...I'm the middle child, and at some level I guess I have this image of the three of us, with Todd on one side of me and Lisa on the other. I have this hard-to-describe feeling that something is not at my shoulder that should be. I don't actually look around to see what's missing, but it is almost like a physical feeling.

Philip, you were the world's biggest McDonald's fan and to prove it, you had a McKid's sweatshirt that you loved…The first sign of morning or evening chill and on went the white sweatshirt with the big golden arches…I was so used to hugging you while you wore it that in the weeks after you died, I wore it a lot because it felt like you...That sweatshirt was a part of you and I will miss it, but not nearly as much as I miss you.

Most people, when they think of the loved one they lost, remember all the times and life events they shared. Since I lost my mother when I was five, I tend to think more along the lines of what I've missed. I wish my mother could have held my hand and walked me to the first day of school...I wish my mother could have consoled me when I got that perm...I wish my mother could have traveled the world with me, even if it was through my photos...The thing is, this list will get longer and longer...I already wish she could be here to see the children I will one day have.

Edward T. Milbourne, Jr. wore this shirt. Ed always loved the outdoors. Ed lived to fulfill his dream of owning a home in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. Another of Ed's dreams was to own a Harley Davidson motorcycle…Unfortunately, he died before this dream came true. He did own a Honda motorcycle (but it just wasn't the same as a Harley). He loved to go riding with his friends...Ed is loved and missed very much by everyone who knew him.

What comes to mind when I see my Mum's uniform shirt is strength. My Mum was full of it. Though a single mother of two, starting at a very young age, nothing kept her down…I saved this item because I wasn't really ready to let go of it until now. Giving it away now to a good cause where the world has the opportunity to see my Mum's strength through a piece of her clothing means the world to me. It is really hard living without my Mum. She was my #1 fan. She was my best friend and my world.

Dear Jim...Right after you died, I found the strength to cut up many of your old clothes...for print shop rags - I think it was a sort of catharsis...a way of dealing with my anger at your unexpected loss...I saved many of your good shirts...I am giving this olive-green striped shirt…because it definitely reminds me of you. I remember you wearing this shirt while sitting in your studio and reading, waiting for me to get ready to go out somewhere…I know you would think this is a cool thing to do.

My Mother wore this evening coat to a ball that she was invited to back in the late 1960s. At the time, she was going to the University of Waterloo…My Grandmother purchased the velvet fabric and got her seamstress in Bowmanville to start making the coat. She made it according to my Mother's size. Then my Grandmother sent the coat to Waterloo. My Mother would pin it where it wasn't fitting and mail it back...The postage must have cost a fortune, because they sent it back and forth quite a few times. Finally, it was a perfect fit!

My brother, Peter, wasn't the sort of guy who cared what he wore. In his spare time, he would most often be dressed in a wrinkled old t-shirt from a gliding competition and a pair of jeans covered in glue and paint from making winglets for gliders. But his big smile, twinkling eyes and generous heart eclipsed his sometimes shabby appearance...He was not interested in talking about himself. He was interested in you. That's why he didn't care what he wore. He didn't look at clothes. He looked at you and saw the beauty in your soul.