I got a call from my mother one Saturday night: her aunt Cash, who I had known all my life, had died. I got the message that I was needed at home and arranged it with my manager at the time to be gone for a couple of days to attend the wake and funeral.

I flew into Chicago and my youngest brother and his father (my stepfather) met me at the plane (remember the days when you could do that?) and brought me home. The next evening was the wake. I had a chance to catch up with a few cousins and my aunts and uncles.

And it hit me: Cash was there. Not just the body lying in the casket, because right now that wasn’t her: that was just the 90 pounds of flesh, bone and blood that she had dragged around for 84 years…