Serious mental health issues aside, we spend most of our lives fighting our mortality. We don’t want to think about it, we don’t want to talk about it and yet it is where we are all heading.

At 98, my paternal grandmother has reached an age where she has made peace with her own mortality. I think deep down she is even hoping to die. I love her so much and although it saddens me, I think there is something undeniably beautiful in these thoughts of woman who has lived her life, had a family she loves, watched her friends die and is now ready to follow them. She is tired.

Not many of us will be lucky enough to reach this point: most of us will go before we are ready.

98 is also a reminder that she is still alive and that there is still pleasure to be found while she is here.

When your bones give in and your hair grows thin
There’s more lines than skin in the mirror
When your mind gives up ‘cause your thoughts get stuck
And your words don’t come quite as easy

So you dwell in dreams of dying
Do you think it feels like falling or flying?
There’s a swell in days of hoping
That there’ll be somebody waiting where you’re going

When your Christmas cards came in thick and fast
As the years go past they get fewer
When your friends have gone, still you stumble on
While the younger ones went before you

So you dwell in dreams of dying
Do you think it feels like falling or flying?
There’s a swell in days of hoping
That there’ll be somebody waiting where you’re going

Step outside, there is pleasure yet
In soft spring air; let it fill your chest
So step outside, for the days still left
And feel the life in the power of your breath

So you dwell in dreams of dying
Do you think it feels like falling or flying?
There’s a swell in days of hoping
That there’ll be somebody waiting where you’re going

So you dwell in dreams of dying
Do you think it feels like falling or flying?
There’s a swell in days of hoping
That there’ll be somebody waiting where you’re going

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