The phone rang. His breathing's changed, they said. We think you should come in.
W was asleep in bed. I knew what was likely to happen, but I couldn't bring myself to leave the baby with someone else, or to wake him and bring him with me and risk a meltdown at the hospice. My sister K and my mother departed in a hurry.
I sat in the window of Dad's house, watching the sun set over his favourite view, while he breathed his last. I wasn't with him when he died. But then, I don't think he was there either. For all intents and purposes, he'd already gone.
I've missed him for months. I'll miss him forever.
RHB, 2 October 1956 - 23 November 2015.