On You Mark, Get Set, Don’t Go
“My name’s blurry face and I care what you think.” I am laughing in all my old photos. I’m fat, bubbly, and I love life. I have an eccentric sense of style. My hair is messy but intentionally so. I am confident in my skin. Life is good. Then everything changed. I was twenty when I first realised that I am mortal. Sure, like everyone else, I had thought about my death from time to time, but it always seemed like a faraway thing – something that would happen to a different version of me. My first reaction when I found out about Ian’s death was denial. There was no way he was dead, but the look on his distraught mother’s face told a different story. His heart had given out. They had all known that his story was coming to an end – the prognosis for his heart disease was not good. There was nothing they could do. They were helpless. His poor mother had to watch as life gradually oozed out of her son’s body. Ian and I were not friends. We’d probably exchanged a grand total
