The telephone rang and I picked it up - heard my friend's voice down the line. Hello, he said, I'm back in Canada, we should get together.

What a surprise, I said sincerely, are you staying with your daughter?

No, I'm walking by the lake, enjoying lovely weather.

I asked again about where he stayed, and he said maybe with his son, but after a few more questions, that theory came undone. He was staying at his daughter's home, but only for a while. Winter was coming and he was going home; I struggled for a smile.

He said he'd call again, maybe a luncheon and get to meet. Then a swift goodbye and a dial tone, my optimism in retreat.

The following night the telephone rang, a familiar voice said hello. I'm back in Canada again and wanted you to know. I asked him if his daughter was there, we hadn't spoken for an age. When I bluntly asked if he was confused, she said yes, we've turned that page.

They had to bring him home because it was too unsafe alone. And the struggle with finances permeated her tone. Her brother was awaiting a heart transplant, so there was no help coming there. I knew exactly how she felt . . . life was so unfair - it seemed.

Getting him back onto our health care was not a simple task, the rules have altered over time, and now you just can't ask. Another hill they'll have to climb is establishing long term care; she can't manage by herself, and the question is, just where?

I told her I would do whatever it was I could, that I would always be there to listen, if she felt it would do any good. I'm calculating the risk of driving out to see him, it is quite a way in horrendous traffic, and my legs can't bend too long. But if I miss his final days, that to me is wrong.

There is always the option of financial aid; It was put there for a rainy day. And if that day isn't mine, who really cares, I'll find another way. His daughter is my god-daughter, and over the years I've not offered much - maybe this is finally how fate has cast its touch.