Death

I’ve been thinking a lot about death recently. Not quite as grim as it may sound, but not exactly uplifting, I know.

It’s what happens when your Dad has a brain tumour that just won’t go away and you have a godmother who, according to some people, is not going to last much longer.

I suppose it has something to do with my age. You hear a lot about people in their mid-30s starting to experience older relatives.

Inevitably, this is what seems to be happening to me.

Admittedly, I could be writing a year from now and both of those people will be still be alive and kicking – and god knows how I hope that’s the case.

Anyway, back to death specifically. People have different perspectives at different times of their life. I know there was a small window when I was incredibly fearful of it.

And, to be honest, having young children does give me a little shiver, but I know that if I went tomorrow then I wouldn’t be devastated.

When it is time to go, there’s not a lot you can do about it, is there? Sure you can fight it sometimes, but if your number rises to the surface, then why keep forcing it back down?

I often dream about standing up giving the eulogy at people’s funerals. OK, so I haven’t dreamt my own yet, but it’s actually pretty comforting. It gets you used to the idea and hopefully means you’re less likely to be distraught when it truly happens.

I suppose going is worst for those left behind. All I want people to know is that I loved them and that it’s time to party and not be sad. Simple, really.