Developmental Trauma
In the spring before my sixteenth birthday my father had fallen ill. He was diagnosed with lung cancer and had surgery to remove most of his right lung. In those days, the prognosis for such patients was not very good, but his medical colleagues gave him `from one to thirty years´. He didn’t make the one. In the summer and early autumn months of that year, I spent much of the time outside of school hours with him, as he set out on the final stage of this life…
