With the possibility of so many best days, I'd like to share one that may be one of the most poignant.
Dad had become sick, then sicker, and was then diagnosed with end-stage lung cancer, with no hope of recovery.
It was 35 years ago and I was staying with Mum and Dad for a few days in Central Otago when a neighbour dropped by and mentioned a paddock of beautiful new mushrooms just up the road. Mum and I decided to investigate.
Laughing, we rugged up in coats, scarves and gloves, and were about to leave when Dad announced he would like to join us.
We dressed him in hat and gloves and wrapped a blanket round him; he looked like a roly-poly toy.
With me in the middle seat, we set out. Mum drove carefully and slowly, as the slightest bump caused Dad great pain. Sun glinted off the first smattering of snow on the Hawkdun Range and a faint breeze blew.
We reached the paddock, grabbed knives and a box for the mushrooms and started picking.
The mushrooms were beautiful: clean white tops and pink underneath. Mum and I talked about how we would cook them, hoping to whet Dad's appetite as he had always enjoyed mushrooms.
Dad sat in the ute in the sun watching us with the open door.
"Over there," he murmured pointing to a stunning patch, as he was just too tired to move and help.
With our box half full, it was obvious Dad was getting too cold to stay longer, so we packed up and headed home quietly, but happy, after our foraging.
That outing on a brilliant May afternoon in Central Otago was to be my last with Mum and Dad. On reflection, it was one of the best days of my life.
Ngaire Young is a long-time resident of Dunedin North and a diversional therapist.
