monica bellucci, spectre, james bond, funeral, die, death, woman in black

But what if you die?

On those odd occasions when some part of me is not thinking about me dying, I find that I’m thinking about you dying. It’s like another level of growing up in a terrible video game, and I don’t want to be this creature but… what if you do die? Which is worse? I go and then the children are left motherless, or you go and a chunk of me dies with you and they will be left fatherless and half-motherless?

So now I am weighing up the idea of leaving or being left; hypothetically choosing between the idea of nothingness and a lifetime of picking up the pieces. Will I be brave enough? Am I up to the task? If I am already worrying about it then how can I possibly be equipped to face it?

And there are days when I admit I think I will be OK. I have a tear/glint in my eye. I can handle it; I am Super Mario boinking across the screen defeating the mushrooms of fear and uncertainty. I think about what I would wear at your funeral (expensive, because when else?) and where I would liveThen there are the days when I know I am not up to the job of life after you – I am no heroic Rio Ferdinand – and I am ashamed.

But once I was just me. And, I suppose, I would have to be just me again. This thing is, had I never seen such riches, I could live with being poor. Also should we get life insurance?

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