My father died 30 years ago today.
It's still hard to write about because it was the result of an operation to remove tumours from bowel cancer. He developed perotinitis and the infection spread through his whole body. By that stage he was too weak to fight it.
There isn't a week or a day that goes past without me seeing something that reminds me of him - more than just looking in a mirror. He knew a lot of what was going to happen in the world, he was involved in environmental concerns in the 70s and 80s, he introduced video technology into staff training when he worked at the National Library and he was worried about the effects of the technological revolution that we were just on the cusp of, even as he was fascinated by it.
He influenced a lot of people, wove our family inextricably into Fijian culture and left a gaping hole in our lives.
He was a great photographer, and my mother is still working on publishing and sorting his photos, starting with a record of the Fijian village that adopted us.
He is still greatly missed by me, my brother Ross, my mother Geraldine and all those whose lives he enriched.