Do We Have A Right To Other People’s Memories?

Yesterday I sent my uncle a text to say that I loved him. I had visited him at the weekend with my daughter, my very pregnant Labrador and my mother, his sister. I do love my uncle, I always have since I was a little girl, he is — I can say — the only man who has stuck around, who has not divorced me (or my mum), who has not died. Even at 47, to his 81, he will still try to make me laugh like he did when I was a little girl.

But this weekend I went to visit him for a very specific reason, I wanted to make him dig deep into his memory because I’m currently writing about his mother, my grandma.