ABSTRACT
When a parent dies it leaves a gap not only inside you, but also in the world you live in. This is horribly obvious each time you see the empty chair at the table, the unused umbrella in the hall. I remember bringing my mother a cup of tea in bed one morning after my step-father died and being quite shocked at how small she looked in the big half-empty bed. How much bigger it must have felt to her without my large, bear-like step-father lying there beside her.
