Is it wrong to have a favourite spoon?
And more, much more than this, I did it my way
Frank Sinatra singing My way was one of the Desert Island discs on Radio 4 this morning. I thought about that advert on the TV where the man says “My song would be my way” and wondered how many people choose to have this song played at their funeral not realising the irony that by choosing it it probably meant that they didn’t!
It was that sort of a morning really, the Today programme had an article about death and what what it can teach us about improving life. It featured a lady from a place in New York called Morbid Anatomy who was appearing at an event at the Wellcome Trust Gallery in London to celebrate the Day of the Dead.
That, along with a job I’ve been doing for Independent Age, got me thinking about my losses last year and for some reason I thought about the last time I spoke to my Dad. He had just been taken into the hospice and we spoke briefly the Monday night. He knew the end was near and I think he was trying to break it gently to me (although I already knew he wasn’t expected the last the week). The last words he spoke to me were “I think you’ll be getting a call to come up soon” to which I replied that I was coming up the following day and he said he’d see me then. Unfortunately by the time I got to the hospice he was already heavily sedated and he never really came round enough to have a conversation with. He didn’t last the week and died on the Friday night.