I am watching a programme on organ transplants. A suffering family is told that their beautiful son was brain dead in 20 minutes, and I find myself screaming enviously at them all as they grieve, “You are so fucking lucky!”
They don’t have to watch their love’s brain dying year by year month by month, while he no longer knows what is happening. My love struggles gamely on but the confusion is almost universal and the moments of joy are dampened by the dullness in his eyes.
Death is our part to play in life. Fair enough – but this is slow-drip torture.