From the age of around 10 I knew that my Dad had a dicky ticker. 

I woke up one morning to find him gone and eventually found out that following a coronary he'd been taken to St Mark's Hospital in Maidenhead (when it had wards!).

I visited him there and we wrote to each other whilst he recovered. I have the letters to this day, along with the sketches of the ward that he drew. He was an amazing illustrator.

When he came home he had to follow a weird diet. The salt that he had to use was rank! But he stuck to it, got better, got back to work. 

We used to play golf together - part of his rehab. A game that he played up until the day he died.

I was in Bristol, studying when it happened. 

I remember getting a call from my brother telling me that Dad had had a stroke and was in Royal Berks in Reading. I was in my final phase of study. Just about to take final exams, give final performances. Finish off the 3 years of hard work - I was a mature student after all! - and he goes and does something like that!

I immediately took a train home and visited him. Surrounded by my Mum, Bro, Sis, and tubes and all beeping and blinking paraphanailia.

He looked so small, and confused and bewildered. He'd lost the power of speech. He was never a great conversationalist so I kind of wondered what the problem was. But still, I could see the frustration in his eyes as he tried in vain to form words.

The prognosis was good though. Medical staff said that he was doing well and with therapy he could get his speech back. He continued to communicate - through illustration this time. Always his amazing talent.

I went back to Bristol to put the finishing touches to my degree happy in the knowledge that when I got back home at the end of term I'd see Dad.

I was at my girlfriend's flat the morning I got the call from my Bro' telling me that Dad had gone. 

It's difficult to put into words the emotions that I felt that day. I know I cried. I felt empty. My best friend had gone. The guy I went to for everything had gone. Like I said, he wasn't the most vociferous. He was a quiet tree that I leant on throughout my life. Following the break-up of my marriage, he was there. When I needed advice on career and life he was there. Always supportive. Not overbearing or pushy, but gently offering alternatives. Now he was gone.

The photo that I use is that of me and dad at Haverfordwest after just having done the 9 hole pitch-and-putt.