I took this view of the sun setting over South West London at 3.21 this afternoon, from my father's hospital ward window. I turned, went back to his bedside and told him what a beautiful sky there was; told him how good it had been spending the day with him and reminiscing about him with a couple of visitors - and then he took one more breath, and that was it. He hadn't spoken since Wednesday: his last words - having said that he wanted to go to sleep - were "lights out." I'll never know, of course, whether that was a goodbye to the world, or a grumpy commentary on the fluorescent light in the ceiling - I was just relieved that the sentence of a few minutes earlier hadn't been his final utterance: "the ox tongue in the fridge is for the foxes" ... It couldn't have been more peaceful departure - which doesn't mean that the whole rushed week hasn't left me in shock.
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