I was bereaved of a loved family member, a formerly strong and athletic man, after a 3-month, severe illness for him earlier this year. There was hope right up until the end. It still. Hurts. The worst thing? - my memory of, his confused face, on the trolley just before he died - and that was the last time I ever saw him. I kicked his trolley by accident as I left the room from our final goodbye (him groggy, me barely holding it together) and he looked up, all wondering and so very hurt by his illness - I was the architect of his misery when I would have given almost anything to see him peaceful and accepting. Before that, I saw his sad eyes when normal, decent bodily functions failed, his daily small personal pain when that glorious body he once had, no longer responded bit by bit. All I had to fill my mind in the immediate days and weeks of sharp grief after his death, were those memories. Those pictures. NLP people say we remember according to sound, looks and image in parts according to our nature - but I doubt anyone doesn't know in grim photographic details what a loved one LOOKED LIKE last time their saw them. My mental snaps? They weren't good, they didn't do him justice. Memories are all the bereaved have left, and the most immediate ones are the most important ones at that time. It's taken about 10 months for me to get to a place where the pictures of him, happy, enjoying life, can be as present as that apocalyptic, horrific, pain-raddled few weeks. Tom (Brian, if anyone prefers) did a good job by leaving an impression of dignity, peace and self-hood for those people, for their loved one. I admit I wish someone like that, in a similar situation, had been there for me and mine in January. Ouch, being emotional - shutting up.