The third meander...into the past

We cleaned out my Grandmother-in-Law's house today, and God, I never knew Dettol could smell so good.
We found some amazing discoveries - cologne-soaked tissues, a 1st edition painting from the early 1930s, and even - in the back of a wardrobe - the container for my Grandfather-in-Law's ashes. I'd never known a house to be so well-kept, but somehow cluttered, with scents and times and memories that I'm not sure even my Father-in-Law remembers. I found my other half's grandfather's documents in a bedside cabinet, his Navy membership booklet, vaccination records, six copies of his photograph. We found a Victorian hand warmer (you know, the ones that ladies always tuck their hands inside when it gets cold) in a forest green velvet, all beautiful curls and rosettes like a May Queen's hair, and bonnets with ribbons to match.
The sad thing is, even if I asked my Grandmother in Law what these things were, she won't remember. She's got dementia, and sometimes she's exactly sure where she is, other times she has to ask every 10 minutes what we're doing at her house. She was a seamstress, evidenced by the ancient-looking sewing machine in the makeshift lounge, the numerous spools of thread, needles, ribbon and fabric we've found. So I guess we just have to wonder what stories lie behind most of these things. Why she made them. Who they were made for. How she learned to make them, what she learned while she was making them.
I found an old picture of my fiancee. He looks so young in it, such round cheeks...but it isn't him. The two people could very well be twins, but they are not the same man. Peter has changed since then. He's focused now. He's stronger now. He knows someone loves him now more than life.
I've never cleared quite so much dust and...stuff as today, and I work as a cleaner. But I've also never been so taken out of that little world we like to preoccupy, to forget there are other people and other pasts, other stories.