I have always been fascinated by death, not necessarily from a morbid perspective. From an early age I recognised it as a natural process so not really been scared of it. Up in my loft I have a wooden box handmade by my grandfather (I never knew him). I think he made three. One for him, one for his wife (my gran) and lastly one for my mum. It has no easy opening but has screws holding the base in place. I now have this for when the day comes. Mum has since decided a bin liner would suffice and when showing her the box on a loft clearing mission she couldn’t believe I still had it. I’ll need to find out her wishes but for now I will keep the box for my own remembrance.
