Not again! I was tired and wanted sleep. Instead, I was staring out the window into the darkness. Then again, I’d become used to waking up in the middle of the night worrying about my father’s ailing health and our future.
I mentally ran through my checklist for when the inevitable happened: ask my cousin to drive me home; call my editor to reassign my interviews; make sure the car’s petrol tank was topped up.
What if I were overseas, though, when Daddy died? I must have enough money to buy a ticket home. I must arrange for someone to help Mummy call the doctor, report the matter to the police and do all the paperwork. Daddy had to be taken to the mortuary until I was home.
Such morbid thoughts, I know. However, I’ve learned that, in the dead of night, when worry and fear threatens to consume you, it’s best to