It’s 3am and I can’t stop thinking of Dad
Is my grief a self-indulgence?
ByDeath
I receive a message from beyond the grave. It comes dressed in Nordic socks
In memory of Ian Marchant, a brilliant writer and creative smuggler
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There’s nothing quite like lying down and thinking about death
Sometimes you can’t ignore the signs
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My father’s car of 27 years has reached the end of the road
It is another piece of Dad that has gone; another piece of the world that was that is now lost
By Wake me up, now September’s here
I am no clearer as to what kind of normal might exist in a world without my dad. But it’s…
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The eternal legacy of architecture
My father’s work lives on in the National Portrait Gallery
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Let them die: the case for assisted dying
The case for assisted dying
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The Lords must fix the dangerous assisted dying bill
As a doctor, I support assisted dying in principle. But this bill will cause irreversible harm.
By Marking my father’s birthday without him
Going through his things doesn’t bring him closer, it leaves me emptier.
By Poetry has soothed me in my grief
Readers have written to me to share the poems that touched them, and they thought might touch me.
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My brother was taken from us. I don’t know what to do
Life will never be the same again.
By Grief has changed me
When my father was alive, all I could see were our differences. Now I see him in me all the…
By When my father died, I felt I should have been full of profound words
Instead, I found that I had none.
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Jane Gardam’s dispatches from the past
The late British writer produced novels haunted by uprootings, death, and the twilight of the British Empire.
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I am haunted by a new, very specific fear
Beware the Waitrose car park.
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