A week after getting back from Sydney I found myself booking flights to Brisbane for this weekend. My dad's wife is dying, and I feel like I want to be there. For her, for me, for my step-sister. For my Dad.
This time last year, Dad had come to visit us. I remember, because one of the few things he'd eat was hot cross buns with real butter. I made myself some (yeast free) hot cross buns too. He was loving the warm weather, though for me it was still a bit too hot in the sun. So we sat outside eating our hot cross buns, he in the sunshine and me in the shade, for the whole Easter long weekend.
I can't even remember how long he stayed, but I know it was 24 hours longer than he intended, due to an emergency trip to the hospital when he was having chest pains.
The only photo I have from that visit is this one:
Friday kept wanting Dad to throw the squeaky toy for her, but his bones hurt too much. Not too much to prevent him from laughing at her repeated attempts to attract his attention though.
When I look at this photo it makes me smile. It also makes me incredibly sad. He was so determined to get over here and see our house. I don't think I realised how bad his condition was. And six weeks later he died.
Where Dad sits in this photo has since been turned into a veggie garden. Time passes and things change. But some things never leave you.