Not a blog about Margaret Thatcher.
My mother, about 45 years ago. An old polaroid. When this was taken she had just been given permission to drive. Before that my father did all the driving which gave him a certain amount of control.
My reaction upon hearing of his death this morning was roughly the same as that of many Britons upon hearing of the death of Thatcher. You may be thinking to write that you are sorry, but it's ok. I'm not sorry. I'm not running around singing, but I am not sorry. I am at peace; I have been at peace for a long time.
The last time my mother recognized me, before Alzheimer's completely took her away, she gave me a gift. She told me to save myself. From him. And I did.
