‘Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
The day after Mom died, I knew I had to get on with sorting out her affairs. That meant finding her solicitor and informing them of her death. The trouble was, I did not know who her solicitor was. I assumed she had a will, but I would have to find out who she made it with.
Steeling myself, I enter her bedroom. For a while, I stare at her empty bed, where I had found her yesterday. Grief threatens to overwhelm me again. I barely manage to clamp down on it. I have work to do here.
So I carefully start going through the room.
A memory returns to me. There’s a small cabinet in the room, right by the bed. Looks ordinary enough, but I remember as a child, Mom would confiscate my favourite toy if I misbehaved and place it in a compartment inside the cabinet. I always knew that co