My dads tell me that when I was born, a seer had tried to kill me.

She had smooth dark skin and one good eye as dark as a cave, the other sealed shut and adorned with a silver patch.

She was my grandmother, and she kept telling my dad; “He will give you death, and you will love him for it!”

Even though our family was small my dads decided to cut her off. They were devastated as I grew that she could be there to see my achievements; my love for healing others, my determination to become a doctor.

I eventually moved from the tiny suburbs when I was 18, going to university, and so on until I became a doctor at 25.

My job was busy and I tried to make time for my dads, but life in the city was hard.

I saw my mystical grandmother while I was there and waited with baited breath while she glided across the marble to see me.

She smelt of vanilla and coffee, and embraced me with a hug.

“I did not understand, now I do. You will give my son death, and he will love you for it.”

I didn’t see her again, until my dad got sick.

You might guess where this is going. Despite my best efforts, he slipped into a coma.

Three years later my other dad got into a car crash and ended up on the same bay, with irreplaceable brain damage.

I tried to find a way to save them, but there was only one option. One cold January morning I was crying over having to take them off life support, and suddenly smelled vanilla and coffee.

My grandmother wrapped her surprisingly strong arms around me and I saw her vision as she shared it with me.

My two dads smiling in another world, hand in hand.