When I received the call about my father’s heart attack, there wasn’t time to scrub the polish off my fingers. I realised I wanted to share the truth of my life with my loved ones
I was in a Pret in Cambridge city centre when I got the call: the senior tutor of my college, Pembroke, told me I had to come and see him. I was needed urgently back in London for a family emergency, and he would drive me to the train station.
It was an October morning, 2016, and I was about to go to a lecture. But my heart sank in that moment: it was the kind of call that can only signal tragedy. My father had a heart condition – cardiomyopathy – and I knew that the offer to take me to the station meant he was certainly dead.
Continue reading...from The Guardian https://ift.tt/2WGyFdD
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