Back Porch Revelation

It was a balmy Wednesday lunchtime when I quite calmly realised that I was going to die. Of course, I had always known that someday I would die; that came as no surprise – I mean, no-one lives forever. But on this warm Wednesday, I came to the very solid realisation that I was going to die quite soon.

I was sitting on the back porch with a cool glass of water, watching my two cats, Bonnie and Clyde, fighting over a small shiny key-ring I had thrown onto the lawn in temper the day before. The sunlight kept glinting off the metal, hurting my eyes, and as I took a small sip of my water the thought just appeared in my mind, as if it had been there all along – you are going to die.

I suppose you could call it a premonition, almost. Up until recently, my health has been on a par with excellent – and I put my body through some pretty strenuous situations. For my twenty-first birthday I walked across the Sahara Desert – it had officially been for charity, but I hadn't personally cared about raising money. I had motivation enough in the burning landscape; it was practically daring me to walk into its trap. But I sailed across it easily. After that, it was a face-off with Brahma in the Himalayas where I lay close to death for hours before I was rescued. But did that put me off? Did it hell. Less than a year later, I almost ended up sacrificing a leg to the Inca gods of Machu Picchu. Once again, a lucky escape. And all through this, I somehow stayed fine. Yet now, years after giving up my little 'adventures', I was filled with the undeniable knowledge that I was going to die.