Last night, one of those phone calls came through that you just don’t want. My mother called to tell me my father was in hospital after what was apparently a very minor heart attack. He’s in really good spirits and is happy to know why he’s been short of breath etc lately.
A friend I went to school with rang me a couple of hours ago. She’s a nurse and has been looking after my dad. According to her, my dad is in a bit of denial. It’s quite a serious coronary event and he’s got more testing to be done.
I’m a little scared. My dad is only in his early 60’s but he and mum aren’t the most disciplined with their diet which is probably where I get it from, and they polish off a bottle of white wine with dinner every night. At least Dad does do a fair bit of bike riding when he’s feeling well. I’m not ready to lose him. He and I have a relationship that is possibly fairly common with fathers and gay sons. We are quite different people but with some overlapping interests and I think quite a bit of mutual respect. It’s my dad that sparked my interest in photography. Some of my earliest memories are of my father swimming out way beyond the surf break at the beach when I was about 7, taking me or my sister with him. The surf could be quite big, but I’ve never felt so safe.