Uncle Col was the kind of bloke who swam at Manly in baggy Speedos that he should have turfed out years ago. Uncle Col was always good for some free advice, solicited or otherwise. Uncle Col was the kind of guy who would pull apart his dishwasher to fix it himself and who hung ping-pong balls from the roof of the garage so he could precision-park the car.

My uncle, Colin Campbell, was 75 when he rode his bike one Saturday afternoon two years ago to visit the grandkids. Uncle Col was hit by a car and thrown into the air. He died minutes later from serious head injuries.

The driver of the car that hit Uncle Col was never charged. The driver was the only identified witness to the incident and he declined to give evidence.

We lost our much-loved Uncle Col and miss him every day - but it also makes us think about the driver who was turning into Medusa Street, Mosman, that sunny Easter Saturday. The driver must have suffered immeasurably as well. It was such a waste for Col's life to end this way. And it must have been a terribly destructive experience for the driver of the car, to know he had hit and killed someone. When I think of the driver, I also think: what a waste.