We’ve always been close, Dad and I. But not any more. Looking at him sat in an armchair in the corner of the nursing home, it’s hard to believe that this was once a lucid and intelligent young man. He’ll always be my dad, but it’ll never be the same. It’s like that young man left, and in his place, a shadow. The fog of memories sifting around constantly, flickering. Some brighter than others. It’s up to me to remember for us both now.