I’ve been working on my Death Diaries book. Here’s a short extract:

What do I think will happen to me once I am dead? Nothing. I expect nothing. I will simply cease to exist, be nowhere, fade into eternity. I will have been a flash, a brief flicker in forever. Even the mightiest, most powerful, are brief unimportant flickers.

I do not expect eternal paradise, reunions, reincarnation, judgement, damnation or any awareness. I will be where I was before I was born; where I go when I drift off into dreamless sleep – nowhere.

It will neither be painful or unpleasant or ecstatic and blissful; it’ll simply not me.

And I’m very relaxed about that. I cherish life. I certainly don’t want to die. I find the thought of death disturbing. I certainly don’t like this ageing process either! I think, as I get nearer, I will reach a point where I want to give up. I shall relax, let go and dissolve into eternity. That’s it. Over.

I imagine there will be some pain and sorrow in the ones I leave behind, but not for me. I will no longer exist.

For a time I will live on. I will be remembered. People who knew me will conjure up their memories. There will be ripples that spread out from my life. But I fool myself if I think I have ever altered anything substantial. That’s vanity. I’ve stopped no wars, discovered no panaceas, not greatly altered any lives. Despite all my efforts in teaching, writing and arguing, my impact has been minimal.

I would have liked more but I think I’m alright with what I’ve done. I don’t think I’ve done a lot of harm.

Life has been fulfilling.

Death makes life all the more. Life is measured in seconds. We live in the moment. I have an urge to fill every second, to strain the pleasure, wonder and fulfilment out of it. Life is experience. That’s all.

Apart from the impact of my life and relationships there is the impact of my artefacts to consider. I shall leave behind ‘things’, things that were either valued parts of my life, possessions or were just passing through. They will be distributed or discarded. Charity shops and the local dump will get their share. Things that meant a lot to me might mean nothing to other people.

My records, CDs and books will be sold, my clothes sent to charity and other things discarded. My family and friends will pick out a few things to remember me by.

I wonder about all the photo albums. Will they be placed in an attic somewhere for a while? Will one or two be brought out and a life picked over? There are so many, too many. My life is well-documented. But of little importance.

Then there are the books. I have a couple of hundred of my own books. They might clutter the kids’ lives for a while. I bet they have good intentions to read them but never actually get round to it.

Never mind. They are of no importance. I will not care one way or anything. I will not get upset. I will not be there.

That’s life.

That’s death.