Writer's Notebook

The doctor's message annoyed him, Not so much the content, nor the fact it had come by phone, That had, after all, been this idea, But why couldn't he stick to the facts. He had just one more month to live, So what! It could have been worse. Besides he'd had a fair innings And. there wasn't much he still wanted to achieve. Why couldn't John just leave it at that. 1 month... Why did he have to add his sixpence worth by adding: "use them wisely!"

Besides, everybody seemed to want to offer him advice when they learnt, he was dying. His two ex's had both reminded him of the importance of putting his affairs in order before.. He knew what that meant but supposed it only fair he did smoothing for them. At least, they 'd had the decency to stop after 'before'.

The priest he'd gone to see to try and get some comfort managed little else than getting a list of songs for the funeral out of him. ''It's good to plan ahead, you see. "At least, we don't have to think about the prayers and the lessons. They're all prescribed by the liturgy." Then stuffing some sort of religious tract into his hand, ushered him out with the promise to come and pray with him in hospital.

His brother's solution had, at least, been more entertaining, But taking his rampaging cancer on a two week luxury cruise was almost certainly not the wisest of ideas.

So what was left for it other than to carry on as usual? Yet maybe? A day had so many experiences, so much to reflect on. Maybe, he needed more time to profit from them: to think, to digest, to prepare, to mould what would happen each day. Yes, that was it. He simply needed more time.

Picking up his diary he went through each day crossing out any entry before 10 a.m. and sketching in a small Rodin like figure every morning.