Some things just feel ingrained in the memory and hard to shift even when you are faced with opposition to their validity.
One such memory is the morning after my Grandfather had died. I must have been only 6 at the time and this was my paternal grandfather - the only grand parent I ever had. He was a very serious rotund man in many ways very similar in stature to my father but without the shock of white hair as he was practically bald! He had worked on the docks in Liverpool and had bought the family home - a very middle class semi detached house.
It was custom that each morning I would take a tray of breakfast up to 'Pop'.
I remain convinced that, despite protestations from my parents, that on that morning the tray was prepared as usual and I took it up to an empty bedroom. When I came down and told my parents that 'Pop' wasn't there they said that he had gone away and wouldn't be coming back!
The reality was that he had suffered a number of heart attacks and this one proved to be fatal.
Why do I have such a strong memory of this incident that is and remains at odds with what my parents said?
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