Some of my classmates were confronted, some were disgusted, some were outraged, and yet others wounded personally. Some could not look and walked off to look at the shots of Kidman or Jagger, instead.
My father is not dead, but he is into that final straight. In three months he will be 90 - if he makes it. Today he mostly slept through my visit. He took a few mouthfuls of a ripe plum. Ate one piece of Cadbury's Dairy Milk. Took the tiniest sip of lemon Solo through a straw. But mostly he slept as I stroked his forehead, or rubbed his hand. His eyes fluttered to see who it was. Let's hope he is stronger on Monday when I next visit. This is selfish of me, for I know he does not want to be stronger.