A final wild gift: who’d have guessed this time with Dad as he’s dying could be so ineffably precious?

As Myfanwy Jones and her family cared for her father in his last days, she was struck by the beauty, the memory and the burrowing in

Dad keeps asking for a half-pint of cold milk. He doesn't talk of dying but of going home. And it's some consolation that the cabbage-y room in the aged care facility, with its hoseable floor, is a stone's throw from where Gran gave birth to Dad on their kitchen table.

My two sisters and I have set up camp here, with knitting and books and herbal teas, and it reminds me of preparing for birth. The burrowing-in. The stopped clocks. Something huge coming.