Frank's, David's and my last day together
This short story about Frank isn't to mark an anniversary or anything – you all know his birthday was in November and he died in very early January. Something's just had me thinking about it a bit lately. Maybe because my own birthday's coming up I'm thinking about how time passes and how our relationships to those around us and those we've said goodbye to change as we age. But while it might seem like the story of how he died, it's actually the story of his last trip. He'd been in Canterbury hospital for most of the preceding November and celebrated his 79th birthday there. David had told me he was pretty sick and I should go over the Sydney in case the worst happened. I came for a week and a half or so but couldn't stay much longer, I had work and my own family to look after at home, and against all the odds the chest infection he'd been put in with had started to clear up. He hadn't come completely good though and never would again. Somehow am