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Somewhere in the last month or five (or longer) I lost my Dad. He slowly became grumpy and belligerent. He grew intolerant and could not be with us for longer than 5 minutes before becoming bored. I can't even put my finger on when it started.

Last night I sat in the high dependency unit with my Dad and realised he's back. In the dim light surrounded by beeps and alarms and murmurs, I found him.

I held his hand and talked. I cried with relief and he patted my hand and told me "Not to worry, my sausage." I poured out my heart and he thanked me for sharing. He listened and talked and made sense. Oh, he made delightful sense.

The tragedy of all of this is that my Dad is one of the most intelligent people I have ever known. He has a string of degrees and knows things I will never know. The tumors were stripping that away and it was hard to see. His intelligence was dulled.

But he's back! Within hours of the surgery my sparkly, bright Dad is back. The one who makes plans and thinks streets ahead of anyone else. The one who thinks I am fantastic and tells me he's proud of me. My Dad. He's back.