My parents are never far from my thoughts, and in the last few weeks I’ve hardly been able to think of anything else. Needless to say, that both are dead. But the echoes, ripples and shocks from these two sad departures continues.
The final crunch came two weeks ago, with my last visit to my childhood home before it’s sale. Being forced to go through the remains of my father’s, and all my mother’s things was unbearable, and to me, represented the grossest invasion of their privacy.
Strangely, the process has made me infinitely more sympathetic to families who have destroyed the private papers of their famous relatives.
Certainly, in some cases, such destruction may have been prompted by a need to safeguard reputations, but in others? Perhaps not wanton violence after all, but an act of love.