Death is a weird thing isn’t it?
I haven’t thought about it much of the time I’ve been alive but it is kinda there all the time staring back at you. Then suddenly someone you know and care about more than average passes away, or a stranger’s demises touches you in an unexpected way and you are left feeling more vulnerable and closer to your own.
Slowly and inevitably the heroes and vilians of your youth fall away and you realise that your life is following just behind theirs. Is my life measured in Beatles, two of them have already passed on or is it over when the last person that marked my informative years is no more?
So sometimes I think about it, maybe because Krissie is listening to John Martin, who will write no more love songs. in one room whilst I listen to a John Peel collection in another room, knowing that he will never spin a vinyl again.
And lately when I have thought like this the thought that comes questioning is this – where do I want to be after? And how, ashes or dust.
My friend Tim who came in the autumn said it doesn’t matter when I asked him if he had thought about his final resting place, but I don’t know if I am able to say that with such apparent confidence, or even to say it does matter. I am in limbo.
Maybe seeing Peter’s grave recently is still troubling me subconsciously but death has a nasty manner of sneaking up on you and I don’t think I want to be buried in the local village.
And would they want me anyhow?