I find the idea so appealing.
I wish it were true. The truth is much sadder.
I don't know about you but I've really only just realised fully that I won't live forever. Neither will P. Or B. Or M. Maybe I will die tomorrow. Maybe Baby B will.
I wonder why it is this way? Why is life so full of loss and grief? The longer you live the more you lose. I find it unbearable to contemplate sometimes, the inevitable march towards death.
I've spent so much time thinking about things I'll do in the future, how life will be, holidays, travel, great jobs, all waiting for me out there somewhere.
But what if I die tomorrow?
Bille Brown, a famous theatre actor from round these parts, died in January. Geoffrey Rush spoke about him at a memorial yesterday, and read out some of Bille's words.
"I THOUGHT I had more to do, more to give, but I know now it's time to leave."
I had lunch with my stepsister E the other day, and we spoke about her dad.
While he was dying last year, I felt the happiness in my life more acutely. It sharpened my senses and concentrated my thought on the present.
But E and I both agreed that now, 6 months after, the knowledge of death has sucked some of the joy out of life.
I wish I could be a little girl again, and that P could be the Mummy and look after me, just like she hopes will happen.