June 30th, 1990
Copthorne Hotel, Gatwick Airport
As of about five minutes ago, I’m on QRS (quick response standby.) It’s a strange feeling not knowing where in the world you might end up, if you get called out. I typically don’t like standby but I especially don’t like it this time around because I’m concerned about missing the LA trip. I really need to get there and see David. Talking on the phone and writing and receiving letters is all very well and good but it’s nothing like being right there with that person.
Dropped dad off at Heathrow on my way here so he could fly up to Scotland. According to mum, Granda’s condition is rapidly deteriorating and mum, usually the most optimistic person ever, said she isn’t holding out much hope that Granda will make a recovery.
I feel so sorry for my dad. No sooner had I dropped him off at the terminal, when I burst into tears. I can’t imagine how difficult it is for him knowing the purpose of his journey is to see his ailing Father in a nursing home.
Granda is my last remaining grandparent and just writing that makes me cry even more.