In Melbourne probably more than ten years ago I was visiting a palliative client, it was the initial assessment. At the end of the of the interview I was ushered into a bed room: they obviously wanted to show me something. It was a time warp to the seventies.
It's was a teenage girls bed room left exactly as she left it, the day she had died. It had the wallpaper, pictures of the band "Sherbert". Everything screamed seventies. While the rest of the house had moved on, lived in, renovated. This room was a shrine.
I don't know what had happened to this girl, how she died. It seemed obvious that the parents had never gotten over her death. Grief continued to be pushed to the surface in this room.
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