The first death I know about was my great grandmother. I was quite young, maybe 4 or 5 and was (with the other young grandchildren) deemed too young to go to the funeral. I spent an afternoon playing with Polly Pockets with my cousins, slightly confused why the big people came back looking sad. A short while later we travelled again to my Greatsie’s town – all the grownups gathered in her flat and I was taken by my Dad to see the Prince of Egypt at the cinema. Later on, when we were home, my mum gave me the colouring book Greatsie kept at her house for me and the other children and she gave me her blanket. They still smelled just like her. I think that’s when I know she was gone. I’ve always hated the Prince of Egypt.
