We weren't there when you breathed your last such was the dilemma we faced from the Covid pandemic.

We were assured that you had stopped fighting to recover (that was your norm) and went peacefully. We were glad. You were not happy. It was your time. We hoped that to be the truth. We didn’t want you to suffer.

So now we have the arduous task of clearing your house. Papers galore, and despite of your lecturing “put like with like” as we grew up, you’ve been unable to sort much out over the years.

Personal letters to you mixed with reports, photos tucked in to folders that had no association with their content, old birth certificates with receipts of foreign holidays, though all telephone bills in chronological order from the early 80s and dividend counterfoils bundled together. Why, the volume, why didn’t you clear out periodically?

We go through the piles of paper meticulously ... bags separated for rubbish, shredder and those items that are special and for review later.

Dad, it wouldn’t have been so bad if you’d have let us do it when you were alive. Then I could have asked you about the 20-odd year old reports on engineering, refrigeration and heat pumps. The ones that you didn’t, not only keep the definitive report, but the written draft copy and the numerous print outs that you printed and kept towards the final report. All too much, but you didn’t trust us over the years, even towards the end. Why now?!

I know that technology moves on fast, so does every field. No need to keep so much, though my heart longs for one report that shows the studious, thorough, articulate, clever man you were.

But, alas, time rests for no person so we make a snap judgement and move on.

It’s early days. Maybe I'll find that one report yet.