It’s been 21
years since I was able to celebrate his birthday with him in person, and even
then, on his 61st birthday, I would have been away at uni. I hope I
remembered to call him, I think I did, even at that stage I knew his health was
bad and I feared losing him. Every time the phone rang early or late at night
my heart skipped a beat, desperately hoping it wasn’t the call I feared. When
that call did come, at 8.30 am on 9 February 1993, I had been deeply asleep,
and my only thought was crankiness that I’d overslept and would be late for my
meeting with my honours-degree supervisor. I never made that meeting.