A quiet visit to a special place...

Three years of effort came to fruition today. The Mikko Sikstrom Memorial Fund was set up in early 2005 with the proceeds of Mikko's estate, in conjunction with the Leukaemia Foundation, for whom Mikko shaved his head and raised nearly a thousand dollars in the months before his death.

Mikko's fund was to be put towards the purchase of a unit that leukaemia patients and their families could stay in when they had to travel to Melbourne from far away for their treatment. For the man whose first home in Australia was the remote hamlet of Mallacoota, 7 hours drive from the city, it has always seemed a very fitting way to honour his altruism and his beginnings here.

Finding additional funds and the right premises took time, but in October last year the unit was opened and received its first residents.

Mikko's parents, in their wisdom - or whatever - decided not to share this news with even his closest friends and family in Australia, so none of us was able to go, but such a milestone was never going to stay secret forever, and today, Mikko's friend Ned and I met LF representatives in East Melbourne for a short tour.

Mikko's inner city soul would revel in the location, an old brewery opposite the Fitzroy Gardens just minutes from town and - most importantly for residents - the hospital. His eye for groovy detail would adore the compact and crafty design, done in that way that usually only Europeans do so well, and the funky modern decor in chocolate brown and cream, with bright prints on the walls.

We were there just a few minutes, chatting briefly with the man from Deniliquin (some 500kms away) who, after 3 months of treatment, would next week go home well, and his wife who has been able to be at his side throughout, thanks to this place. It was enough.

Ned and I went for a quiet one at Dante's to salute what we'd seen, catch up on one another's news and silently toast our absent but still much loved friend.

In the two years since I left Melbourne I have often felt a sense of relief at being able to escape the memories, people and places that pervade every inner suburb of my home town and the sorrow that has tinted the lives of everyone I hold dear.

Moving to a new space has helped me learn to live with my grief in ways I think I wouldn't have if I'd stayed. And it's enabled Anthony and I to grow into our shared life out from under Mikko's sometimes formiddable shadow.

The last time I came home I confronted endless agonies in every turn, every street, and still in the faces of so many friends. This time it's different. Mikko is still missed - often sorely, and not least by me - but Melbourne is finally becoming a place where I can do more than merely mourn that he is lost. In every cafe and bar, in gardens and by riverbanks, on trams and in sports grounds, in sunshine and in rain, I can celebrate that he lived. I can help keep the best of him here in the world, long after he has left it.

And Melbourne feels more like home than it has in years.