From his first day to his last he knew far too much of death, from his father’s failing heart to two wives’ final breaths. All the life that he saw lost in that Axis camp in Italy and through his old age watching friends congregating in the cemetery.
I remember watching as he lay dying, all shrivelled and small and grey. Fearful of the death I saw in him even though he wasn’t afraid. Because it made me think about the future, about how we try to forget that an endpoint is rushing towards us all even though we think we’ll never be next.
But it’s not being dead or what comes next that fills me so with fear (for knowing what awaits me is the one truth that I hold dear).
Oh God, if you take my wife then please take my life, don’t leave me here alone. But please don’t let us die too young, don’t let us die too old.