The day after I got back from Bali (more on this trip later), I went surfing with my best mate at Pixies. It was what some call a 'bluebird' day - whilst it was chilly and wintery, the sky was pure blue, and there wasn't a drop of wind. Out on the ocean, our hearts were full - the water was so clean and clear (particularly after Indo, where plastic drifts along with fish). We talked about our Dads - Tam's with dementia, mine gone last September. Both had surfed on this beach. Tam's dad had this wave named after him, as he'd discovered it in the '70's.

For a Friday the 13th, we were having a bloody great day.

I went in, did the grocery shop, went to Mum's, and was about to head home when Tam called me on What's App. Considering she only ever texts, I knew straight away.

Her father had gone.

He'd been suffering dementia for a while, but no one expected him to go so soon. Whilst we were surfing, her Mum was trying to call an ambulance - the builders across the back fence saw it happening and jumped over to give him CPR. When Tam got there, the police where there, because they have to wait for the coroner to arrive. Her Dad was laid out on the back deck, in the sunshine, with a blanket, just about where he'd fallen from his chair.

It was an honour to sit with him and the family waiting for the coroner's ambulance to come. We talked and laughed and sobbed, and Tam had time to farewell the body of the man she had worshipped like I had my own father. We noted the day - her old man loved the number 13 for some reason, and for it to be Friday 13th seemed quite amusing.

The paramedics who collected him asked what his favourite music was, and off he went to the sound of Elvis, all the way to the coroner's in Melbourne.

Tam rang her husband who was meditating in Sydney on a 10 week vipassana silent retreat - they had to get him from his meditation cell. That morning, he'd noted the date - Friday 13th.

'Ah, the old man's lucky day', he'd thought.

It was, really. No one wants the indignity of dying with dementia, or in abject pain. Like my Dad, also dying on a bluebird day around lunchtime, it was a blessing, though the grief to come would paralyse us all.

Seeya, Willy. I can see you checking the surf along all the breaks of our coast as you go. Hope you catch a few with Dad wherever you both end up.