I arrive early in your room in palliative care on the morning of your last day. I walk in quietly and you're listening on your laptop to the Tenebrae Choir singing Allegri's 'Miserere'. You are sitting with your head back in a large arm chair. Your eyes are closed. You have a mask covering your nose and mouth and you are breathing with the aid of a ventilator.
I sit near you and you open your eyes and move your hand to turn off the music, but I say, 'No, leave it on, it's lovely.' And you do, and we share ten precious minutes listening together. Some of your family members arrive and I leave to give them time alone with you.
For many years I have benefited from your wisdom and clarity of thought. I particularly admire your ability to meet people where they are at. Some of your family and friends were puzzled by your acceptance of people whom they found difficult to accept. In many ways you are an enigma. But you are not naïve. You are both a realist and a person of compassion.
Nearly a year before, you were diagnosed with motor neurone disease. You had been tiring easily and becoming breathless. You were a bush walker, bike rider, and a fit person — why were you breathless after an uphill walk in the countryside?
By Christmas 2015 your speech was slurred. You had a landmark appointment with a specialist in early July 2016. You insisted on going alone. You rode your bike to and from that appointment at which you were told that you had MND.
In March 2017 we went for a holiday with friends by the sea. I have a precious memory of sitting with you and watching the waves breaking.
By mid-2017 you lost your ability to speak. When I visited and asked what I could do for you, you would point to a chair and I would sit and wait while you reached for a small white board and marker pen and wrote questions for me to answer about what I had been doing and how my family members were.
"We sit with you, hold your hands, kiss your forehead, pray and sing. When we sing 'Dream a little dream', you 'dance' with your hands."
Other friends visited you, some on a daily basis. You had friends from different times in your life and I met many of