You do not currently have permission to view the full text for this document. Please sign in to an account with an active subscription or contact support.
Anna Freud died on October 9th, 1982, in her home in Maresfield Gardens. She had been ill for some months and had borne the effects of her declining health and physical strength with great fortitude. It seemed natural that in dying, as in living, her closeness to her father should be in evidence. Just as Freud had done forty-three years earlier in the closing weeks of his life, she enjoyed the beauty and tranquility of the garden as she rested there with her chow, Jofie, by her side.
No doubt much will still be written and conjectured about Anna Freud's relationship to her father by others; but she considered this a private matter and not one of significance or concern to the serious student of psychoanalysis. Moreover, she was in many ways a private person who did not readily discuss personal matters with colleagues. She was never reticent, however, in referring to her father's views or in quoting a telling comment or witty remark of his when it was of scientific or clinical relevance. When, for example, the problem of a Clinic patient's persistent request to change his therapist was once extensively debated at a meeting, she listened silently and eventually focused the discussion on the real issue with a charming anecdote. She described how, as a young analyst, she shared a waiting-room with her father and soon discovered that all her patients wanted to be seen by him. When she complained to him about this, he smilingly told her that he had similar difficulties with his patients who all wanted to be treated by her. Stories of this kind not only gave one a glimpse of the kind of psychoanalytic tutorship Freud had provided for his daughter. They also allowed one to experience a personal link with him. This personal link to Freud was conveyed even more through Anna Freud's own involvement in the early