And then - in the blink of an eye - it happens. Silence. I stare at his face, disbelieving, willing him to breathe just one more time. But the gasping has stopped. I reach over to take his pulse but can feel nothing. I call a nurse. She stands over him and does the same thing. “He’s gone, my love.” I cannot take the words in; I am not prepared for this moment. I stare at my father, whose eyes are closed but whose mouth has fallen open. He looks peaceful. Another one of the angels returns with a single red rose, which she places next to his pillow…

To my disbelief, she tells me that he’s deteriorating very fast and he may well die in the next hours or the following day. I look at her, incredulous. This fast? She reassures me that he’s definitely not in pain then breaks the news to me that he’s not sleeping - in fact, in the last hour he has actually slipped into unconsciousness. “It’s very likely now that he won’t open his eyes again, or respond to your hand squeezes.” I don’t believe her. I am convinced he will open his eyes one more time. There cannot be this little time left. There cannot be.