We're all going to die

It was a beautiful day in London on Wednesday.

The sun shone. It was hotter than Ibiza (why is Ibiza always the barometer for hot weather?). I was with my friends.

There was food and alcohol and laughter.

It was nice.

Except that everyone was wearing black.

The End of Days

I’ve been to a few funerals. But this one was different. It was someone my own age. Someone I knew.

And he knew he was going to die.

Not in an existential, we’re all dying, kind of way.

He had a genetic disease and ever since he found out (20 years ago), he knew this day was coming.

It was a wonderful day. The music, the stories, the sunshine, the amazing brownies. Everything was perfect.

Except of course that a friend had died.

You can’t help but think about your own mortality at a funeral.

That might sound selfish. The whole point of a funeral is to celebrate life after all, not to think about your own death.

But a funeral doesn’t affect the dead. It hits the living. Those left behind.

The closer you were, the harder it hits.

And you can’t help thinking “will I be next?”

Your Moral Compass

If you knew you’d die tomorrow, how would you live today?

• Would you spend all of your money?
• Give it all away?
• Hug your children?
• Sleep with a stranger?
• Sleep with your spouse?
• Tidy the house?
• Go out partying?
• Have an early night?
• Steal something (why not)?
• Tell your partner how you really feel about them?
• Do something for the first time?
• Do something for the last time?
• Empty the dishwasher?

Each one a moral dilemma (some bigger than others admittedly).

It was tough watching my good friend hold back the tears and talk about her late husband. He’d done some amazing things in his life.

And he’d struggled against death for far longer than I would have done.

I cried then and I’m welling up now.

She married him “in health”. She married someone wonderful. With hopes and dreams and plans.

And ended up with shattered dreams and a very different life.

In sickness and in health. Most people don’t have to test that vow. She did. And held firm, right to the end.

And through it all, she’s been amazing. She has more compassion and more love than me.

How she made it through her eulogy I’ll never know. I barely did.

She’s godmother to one of my children (I forget which one) but if anything happened to my wife and I, there’s no one on Earth I’d rather have take care of my kids.

But I wouldn’t wish that on her. She’s cared enough. She’s done now.

I want her to be free. Carefree.

If that’s possible.

To fly again. Like she and Mark did when they were young.

Before they knew...

Until next time,

Jon Kaye