After a surreal dash through the clouds, I found myself holding the hand of the waiting man who once looked like my father, surrounded by a hi-tech wall of blips and bleeps and tubes. We met with the doctors and agreed that the removal of the respirator was the kindest thing we could do in light of full renal failure, severe cardiac scarring, chronic diabetes, and emphysemic lungs.

The beautiful nurses moved him into a private, dark room and one of them sat with me as I held his hand and stroked his arm for the 15 minutes it took him to take his leave. He died a soft, gentle, peaceful death, and he wasn't alone. That's all anyone could ever wish for. He was ready, with his bags packed. He was out of there as soon as we let him, off to join Mum.

I took this photo before we removed his respirator. I wanted to photograph his face but he wasn't looking like Dad anymore and I didn't want to remember that swollen face. I've always loved his big strong hands, so I took this picture instead.

My brother and I have been overwhelmed by the expressions of love, sympathy and support we have been receiving from his widespread community, and we are expecting a huge turn out at the funeral and wake. I'm doing OK, all things considered. It's just all very surreal. I have done a lot of crying and don't think I have many tears left. We have been surrounded by family and friends at all times, all of whom are grieving in their own way. Some with tears, some with humour. He touched so many people's lives, and I feel very proud of him.