Legacy

On preparing for the inevitable

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.

From a poem by Elizabeth Fry

Graveyard, by Terry Freedman

Mrs F and I were enjoying our customary morning walk through a local park last week.

Me: I don’t wish to sound unduly morbid, but if, God Forbid, you’re diagnosed with a terminal illness, you will tell me, won’t you?

Elaine: Yes, of course.

Me: Good, because I’ll need time to set up my profile on Tinder.

Elaine: And you’ll tell me, I hope?

Me: Oh yeah? Setting up a Tinder profile, are you? You’ll be sorry when I come back to haunt you.

Being serious, though, it’s all very admirable being brave and trying to protect your other half from devasting news, but ultimately it’s not fair. And having seen what has happened since Ian’s untimely death, I’m glad I had the presence of mind to begin to address the inevitable around six years ago.