When I spoke to Greg this morning, he was already in dad's room, and said he would wait until I got there.

When I arrived, dad was lying with his head turned to the room, breathing hoarsely, but continuously and fairly evenly. His eyes were half-open, but unblinking. Two of the staff had just finished tending to him and they told me that a morphine patch had been applied to his back. His head was very skull-like, due, no doubt, to the dehydration, since he is neither eating nor drinking much at all now. Later, as I was on my way out I stuck my head around the manager's door and she told me that when it gets to this stage, when food and drink cannot be administered normally, then it is usually less than forty-eight hours until people die. She had been surprised, she said, that dad was still alive this morning.

But before then, just after I arrived, I spent some time talking to Greg, who was clearly upset. I just reminded him that this was probably the time to say goodbye, and he said he had already spent some time doing that, talking to dad and going over some good memories, that he had now recalled. We talked about those times and I realised that the were indeed rather good. I used them later when I talked to dad alone too. Greg said that he would come back later in the day, after work, and left me alone with dad.

I sat next to the bed and said something like the following:

Hello, dad. It's Mike, your son. We know you're not doing too well at the moment and we don't know how long you are going to be with us. We are all hoping the best for you, but it is probably a good idea to say some goodbyes now.

You did a good job. You gave us all a good life, and you kept a roof over mum's head for 60 years. You travelled all over the world, like you wanted to. We are all OK now, and mum is being looked after properly, so you have nothing to worry about.

I remember when we lived in South Africa and you bought that above-ground swimming pool for Greg and I. We loved that. And I remember the day you bought me a complete set of fishing tackle on my brithday. That was great. And we had those two dogs, Patch and Toby, and the siamese cat, Jason. You used to get home from work early, while it was till light, and Greg and I used to wait for your car to come around the corner, hiding in a big hole the builders had left behind. We had some good times while we were there, and a fantastic holiday driving around Rhodesia.

So you've got every right to be happy with what you did. You helped all of us out in the times when we needed that, and we appreciate it. You've had a good run; you're 87, and you've outlived all your brothers, who were all younger than you. So, it looks like you're going now, dad. We don't want you to, but there isn't much we can do about it any more. We just have to accept that it is time. And we can all look after ourselves now, thanks to you.

We are all going to keep coming in to see you. Greg was here earlier, and Rachel will be over soon, too. Then Greg will come back this evening. And in a minute, I am going to go next door and bring mum in. You would like that, wouldn't you?

I brought mum over and she was content to sit next to the bed. She seemed to have a little glimmer of an idea of what was going on, but she didn't take dad's hand this time. She may have been a little upset at one moment, but I could have imagined it. it was nothing more than the momentaryl distress she often seems to feel for no apparent reason. It was rather like before. I reminded them that they had been married for 65 years, and that they had four children, who I named one by one. Mum didn't appear to follow what I was saying but she did follow that I was talking about her. I stood beside her with my hand on her shoulder as she sat slightly slumped in the chair. This may have been their last time together, so I took another photograph of them. After 10 minutes or so she moved to get up, so I helped her back to her area of the village and returned to see dad.

I reminded dad that we were all going to be coming in to see him, and that all he had to do was lie still and rest. It was approaching noon at that stage, the time at which Rachel said she would be arriving, so I left, so that she could have some time alone with dad too.

I didn't sleep much last night, so when I got back home at about 1 pm, I went straight to bed. It is now 8 pm, and I have just finished having dinner. Greg called twice this afternoon and told me how he'd found dad. It appears that he is gradually worsening.

I am about to make some sandwiches and fill my thermos flasks with coffee, grab a book for some light reading, and a notebook, and head back over to stay with dad tonight. I have the feeling that his time has come and he won't be here in the morning.