As my tears swelled with the orchestra’s strings, and the crowd’s applause escalated, I encountered something miraculous
One month ago in Invercargill, New Zealand, a massive cardiac arrest stopped my dad Richard mid-conversation while raving away to his grandnephew Finn. Twenty minutes without sufficient oxygen left him with catastrophic brain damage. Richard lasted 10 days off life support, but his unbridled enthusiasm was extinguished that day. I thought I’d never hear his voice again … until I did.
Trapped alone for a week in New Zealand’s shambolic hotel quarantine system, the horror of seeing my incapacitated dad through Zoom’s digital veil was too much. And receiving only his laboured breath down the phone line made it hard to verbally articulate my love and gratitude – the only way I could was through playing him music. Often those songs were written by one of his heroes, Nick Cave.
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