Empty nest

Empty nest

I picture myself dying of cancer, the rosie dream is that one is surrounded by loved ones, but in sneaks the reality, ‘Mum I’m busy this weekend I’m having dinner with my girlfriend and her mum’, ‘works been tiring this week’, ‘I’m going skiing with dad’ my children’s lives, the people who have meant everything to me for the last twenty years, have other priorities, much more interesting temptations.

 

I know in reality my death will be empty and alone escorted to the end by the long blip of the heart monitor.

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