Not like at the mall or anything, or in a carpark, but the death of a parent.
In context I left the UK in 1987 and spent a goodly amount of money on a 3 months stay in the US of A.
My father died in 1988 of a long overdue fatal stroke, due to smoking and a sedentary job.
My mother endured many tribulations, including a physically abusive drug addicted brother, and of course seeing her siblings pass away as the years went past.
She ended up in a sheltered accommodation, a granny ghetto, which by all accounts was pretty awesome and very communal, suited my mother to a T
I’d call her 3-4 times a year (I kid myself of course it was more like twice a year), and send amounts of money as she carped on about shoes or coats or frocks, any little to helped
It was clear that she was older and increasingly frail, with a number of small operations to fix bits of her that were falling off, and had had minor corrective sugary on a hernia.
I spoke to her on the Monday, after the February Earthquake in Christchurch, making sure she understood that Christchurch was the other island, and that she’d been there on a previous visit, and that everyone was fine and dandy and in no dangers.
She had a massive stroke that night, never awoke and died a week or so later.
Closure is a difficult thing to define, and I’ll never have a real sense that I said all I wanted to, you never do.