When
are you coming to Sydney?
I don’t know if I am particularly obtuse
but I didn’t realise that he was actually asking if I would come and see him.
Patrick sent an email saying he has terminal cancer and he wants you to
call him.
Do
you think he is telling the truth?
Yes
I called. And said Im very sorry to hear that. How are you feeling?
I
feel bloody fine.
That’s
good.
Im
seeing Professor Epstein for lunch on Monday. He has made some great advances in
the treatment available and has reviewed the notes. So I shall know more on
Monday. In any event, I am very busy pushing through this reform of the rules
pertaining to jury hearings of personal injury cases. Very busy.
That’s
good.
So
when are you coming to Sydney?
I
could come in a few weeks I guess.
I flew home and went to the hospital t
visit. I bought two coffees and wound up drinking both. Jason came to the hospital and waited in the
foyer. He didn’t like the idea of the
trip at all and knew that emotional jaunts for family reasons were particularly bad for me.
Matilda crawled around on the floor in the room, explored nooks and crannies, happily touched the suitcases and machines. She
wouldn’t lie in the bed and cuddle him for a photo. He liked seeing her but was
not familiar with babies. We spoke in
generalities and niceties and it was banal and a little sad.
The
air was pervaded by the obvious sense of the time that had passed and the
things not said.
When I went to say goodbye he requested that I kiss him on the
cheek. I obliged, both of us aware it was the first and last
time.
I called a couple of times when I got home
and he was moved to a different hospital. His lifelong best friend answered
once and called him “Kel” when pasing the phone. A soft and gentle nickname for
a man who had not been soft and gentle in my memories.
He had been humanised by sickness and frailty however.
