Sarah Phillips’ article struck such a chord (What end-of-life experts know about living well: love your wrinkles, celebrate birthdays and don’t obsess over work, 13 August). My husband, Dick, died last month with pulmonary fibrosis. His last few months were physically very difficult, but he gained an enormous amount of comfort from sorting out his affairs; he said it was so that the family wouldn’t have a mess to sort out when he had gone.
He changed everything into my name and prepared lists of passwords for our three sons. He passed on his watch to our grandson and his rings to our sons. To do this himself gave him tremendous pleasure.
Dick regarded himself as very lucky to have had 80 years largely free of illness, and he spent his last three years, when he had a terminal diagnosis, making sure that those left behind would be able to manage without him.
Gill Empson
Aston-on-Trent, Derbyshire
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