[From – Diary – Tuesday, 2 January, 2007]
It’s not much later, but I’m still sort of wandering.
I was determined it was time for bed, but I have a cigarette, and I’ve come in here –
That’s a strange thing that has been happening recently – apart from the heat in my stomach, which I’m puzzling about – more and more, I’m letting go of my anxiety about death.
I think, ‘You don’t know when it’s going to happen – at the moment of it, you won’t know, and there will be nothing you can do about it, so you may as well stop worrying – whether you’ve finished your writing or not, what will happen to it after your death – whether your particular death could have been avoided, if only you’d been sensible about health matters –’
None of this I can change.
And when I think like this, I get a wonderfully relaxed feeling.
I needn’t worry about walking out.
When Gran set off on her bike that day, she had no idea that an accident about to happen would lead to her death. She had no idea then.
She did realise, later, that she was about to die, and said – she wished she hadn’t worked so hard –
But even so, at that moment of her death – she’d have slipped away.
If she’d known she was slipping away, she couldn’t have stopped it.
Mam thinks everything is planned for you, as though it’s all written in a big book.
I can understand what she means – it may as well be, because you can’t do anything to alter that moment.
I even wonder, now, about the wisdom of, ‘You saved my life’.
Maybe life can’t be saved.
If life is saved it was going to be saved anyway, perhaps – because it’s all written down in this big book…