I read of a man who stood to speak At the funeral of a friend He referred to the dates on his coffin From the beginning ......to the end. He noted that first came his date of birth And spoke the following date with tears, But he said what mattered most of all Was the dash between those years. For that dash represents all the time That he spent alive on earth ...... And now only those who loved him Know what that little line is worth. For it matters not how much we own, The cars ......the house .......the cash, What matters is how we live and love And how we spend our dash.

A youngest sister’s early memories Terry – the big brother I looked up to, in every way, as he was so much older than me. He seemed to be an expert on aeroplanes and rockets, planets and the universe. All sorts of exciting, futuristic things. Kind and thoughtful, he always seemed to be very patient with me. Even having climbed on the furniture once, all over his best clothes, he was only slightly annoyed with me. I never remember him being angry. I have strong memories: of sitting in his room at Macallan, listening to his music – classical pieces like Carmen, the Planets or Elizabethan Serenade, as well as jazz; of the wintertime in Scotland, Terry building a snowman with Patricia and sledging down the hill by our house on a homemade toboggan. When he got a scooter, I was thrilled to be allowed to have a ride on the back of it, even if it was only a few yards up the road. Then he went off to university to do electrical engineering, part of an exciting new world of science and computers. We went to see him: on stage in the Aberdeen student show; trying out his skis up on Cairngorm. I was in awe of his adventures – climbing to the top of the new Forth road bridge while it was being built, going to work in Switzerland and travelling to Berlin. I can still recall the great feeling when he’d come home, sitting in the dark watching his slide shows, enthralled by the scenes of mountains, forests, lakes and glaciers. It means a lot to have had a chance to share some of these memories with him over the last year.

Where do people go when they die? Somewhere down below or in the sky? "I can't be sure" said Grandpa, but it seems They simply set up home inside our dreams.