My mother died when she was 94. She wanted to die and she died at home; it was a good death.My father, 4 years her ‘junior’, could not, and did not want to, believe that she was dying. They had been married for 66 years and she had always been there. When it was clear that Mum was failing, my sister and I tried to talk to Dad about what was happening and that he would soon lose his wife. He was a very intelligent, self-educated man, but emotional intelligence and ability to express emotions had never been his strong point. The son of a shell-shocked survivor of First World War trenches, he had rarely been shown overt affection as a child and, other than warm words in letters, verbal or physical expression of affection was not in his repertoire.Despite our repeated encouragement to spend quiet bedside time with …
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