Nine days after the sudden death of my father, I went to collect his mail from the post office box he kept in the city. It was the least of my worries and, like everything at the time, it was happening in a hurry, on the way from something and late for something else. My mother, my sister and I were in crisis mode then, responding only to the most urgent things – and there were so many. Media requests, memorial service arrangements, visits from friends and family. Months later I would realise that,
