“Im not afraid of dying. I just don’t want to be there”.
When my mother died I was cradling my 2 year old son. As she took her last breath my mortality appeared front and centre, regarding me with a little disdain and a touch of arrogance!
I’ve since attempted to balance the scales by the consumption of copious amounts of fish oil, kale and quinoa, the furtive mastering of an elliptical trainer and the occasional temptation to inject my face with botulinum toxin but…every year as fireworks cascade over the Harbour Bridge I begrudgingly acknowledge that the numbers are advancing and I will most certainly die before some smarty pants solves how to reverse free radical damage and therefore my walk into the sunset.
My son is now 23 and hopefully it will be many more years before he’s confronted with the possibility of watching a parent die or as Campion so poignantly writes, “to drift without an anchor”. Read more…