I dealt with both my parents’ papers, a task that involved a substantial donation to the National Archives of Canada of materials from my father’s ancestors in Quebec. My mother’s papers included a 32-volume diary written in legal-size hard-bound notebooks, and carbon copies of every damn letter she wrote after about 1960, plus the incoming correspondence. The diary ended up in the Archives, too — big tax credit for that.
Edmund’s papers will be a doddle by comparison. I have already filled the blue bin (recycling container for paper) with nearly a cubic yard of government bumph and research notes, and it’s on the front porch waiting for Monday. It was so heavy that I had to ask Neil-next-door to carry it downstairs for me. I will burn his old letters in the fireplace.
The funeral was a pale copy of what an Anglican funeral should be, because we were not allowed to sing. Sitting in a pew while the organist plays hymn tunes IS NOT AN ADEQUATE SUBSTITUTE!