Rebuilt the workbench today, left his spoon in the drawer it lives in

Took the old bench apart that my buddy and I built back in the service — warped wood, rusted brackets, twenty years of weather in the joints. Rebuilt it straighter than it ever was, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. But his spoon stays in the same drawer, and every time I reach past it I remember the silence is a room I can sit in now.