Sometimes, reporters get to see extraordinary things. And we get to talk to people in extraordinary situations. We get to see people at their moment of triumph, and at their lowest ebb.

I’ve done a dozen ‘death-knocks’.

When someone dies before their time, you can’t ignore it. There’s a clear public interest usually in finding out what happened – and learning whatever we can to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

There’s an editor’s code to make sure any and all reporting is done the right way and it’s possible to breach that code in a number of ways when covering someone’s death so reporters and editors should always tread very carefully. I certainly do.

It’s usual for a reporter to be dispatched to see if the friends and relatives want to talk. It’s not something many relish. It’s something many dread. What can you possibly say to someone who has lost a loved one?

You might expect that people in that situation would react to a stranger turning up on their doorstep with anger.

You see complaints in the national press about media scrums, and press intrusion, when someone famous dies.

In my experience, that’s almost never the case at a local level.

If people don’t want to say anything, they only need to say it once, and we walk away.

But generally, they do want to talk. They want to share memories. They want their loved ones to be remembered.

I’ve never, not even once, had complaints about asking someone if they want to talk. Only once has someone reacted with any degree of anger. The only complaints I’ve had are from friends and family saying “why didn’t you talk to us?”

The answer, usually, is because we didn’t know how to contact them. And if we’re told by the family – through the correct channels – not to call in advance, we don’t.

I wonder, occasionally, how I might react if something happened to one of my my nearest and dearest.

I think I’d want to celebrate their life. I’d want to scream their name from the rooftop. Plaster their beautiful photo on every billboard. I can’t be sure. Can you?

I do know I’d want to be asked. Not see something written without my having the chance to say something.

So I’m so grateful to everyone who spoke to me at such an awful time. Not because they gave me a story. But because they briefly let me into their lives and shared an extraordinary, horrible, moment with me.

I hope, in some tiny way, it might have helped.