While I write this post, I’m on the train from Vienna to Carinthia. A week ago, at the exactly same time, I sat on the same early train, talking to my sister, both wondering whether we would arrive in Klagenfurt to see our father still alive. My sister left the train in Klagenfurt while I went on to Villach, fed the cats, took the car and drove down to Klagenfurt again. She made it, I didn’t. When I arrived, he had been dead for half an hour.
A week and an hour ago I had my last conversation with him, a few words on the phone. It’s dizzying to think about it.