On the eve of my father’s funeral, I find myself writing my review of this memoir with a real sense of gratitude that I was lucky enough to have loving parents, and little dysfunctionality in my family. My father was raised in a rather Victorian household, (he was born in 1915), where children were seen but not heard, which made him always a quiet man, but no less loving for it, though he rarely expressed emotion.
Tomorrow I shall say goodbye to him in the knowledge that he lived a long and satisfied life, leaving no regrets at the end on any of our parts, unlike my poor friend Debby Gies (author D.G. Kaye), who suffered a traumatic childhood.
Thanks, Debby. Whilst I sorrow for your travails, you’ve gifted me with a great contrast to recognise at this sad time how fortunate I have been.
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