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Dad put his arm around me, and I asked him if he was all right. ‘Do you want to come in?’ Dad asked me, and again I froze. The NO that came out of my mouth shocked me. It was very stern and sure. The slight glimpse I had had of Gramp through the curtain was enough. ‘OK, that’s fine, love, whatever you want to do; Mum and I will be staying a little longer and Michael is on his way. Luke not with you?’

‘No,’ I answered, staring at the curtain. ‘I’ll wait downstairs for you both, Dad. I’m sorry.’ Dad tightened his grip on my shoulder then went back to Mum and Gramp.

As I walked down the stairs to find the chair I had sat in earlier, I met Michael who had just arrived. ‘Am I too late?’ he asked. Heaven knows what happened next, but it was at this point that I began to cry. That uncontrollable sob, the sort I had witnessed so many families experience in my months at the mortuary. Michael got me to my seat, and said gently, ‘I guess that I am, then.’ He was smiling slightly, in the caring way that you only recognize from the people you most love, and on seeing his smile and his face, I did what people in those families also do; I apologized to him.

I now understand the relief that this can give a person who is bereaved and in shock; the ability to grieve is helpful for most, although the guilt of not sitting with Gramp after his death ten minutes earlier had become a little overwhelming.

I told Michael he should go and let Mum and Dad know he was there, and toyed with the idea of going back up myself, but I didn’t feel ready. Michael climbed the stairs, but came back down to me almost immediately. We stayed for a couple of hours while we waited for our parents, drinking far too much dodgy coffee from the vending machine, freezing while out in the cold smoking too much, as the smell of the lilies started to choke us both.

We chatted about times past, mainly how we remembered Gramp when we were just youngsters and how, when we had visited Nan and Gramp, he would tell us that ‘a little bird’ told him stuff about our progress at school and our achievements. We were always amazed at how he knew this, not thinking for a minute that Mum and Dad would speak to them over the telephone of an evening while we were safely tucked up in bed.

We ended up giggling at some points.

Eventually, we all went on to my parents’ house and things were talked over. Luke met us there, but took a back seat and was there for support and to keep the kettle hot. This was the first time I had really been involved in the death of a family member. As I was older, and considering what I did for a living, my parents felt no need to hide me from death.

The funeral arrangements were made the next day with a local undertaker, for a week later, and I knew they would treat Gramp to the level we expected, and with the respect he demanded. This was one of the bonuses about my job. As I’ve said, I had come to know a lot of undertakers and found out what they think of the job they are doing. Some of them just want to pay the bills and, I suppose, to have a quiet life, because the one definite thing with the dead is that they will never answer back, but there are a few who genuinely care. When they arrive to collect a body, they are gentle, they talk to the deceased and the respect is there. Some of the others will just pull the body over from our trolley onto their stretcher as if it’s a lump of meat, strap it in then wheel it away. I was not having that, no way. Also, another thing I had learnt was that it was important for us that the funeral director was an independent trader; a lot of companies are owned by American chains, and they work by sales figures. I decided that I wanted us to use the same people that dealt with little Lizzie last year – Tony, from Phelps & Stayton. I told my family about his compassion and commitment, and all agreed.

I arranged with Tony that they would collect Gramp as soon as possible, and spoke to the consultant at the hospice, using my position to lay it on thick,