I've found it hard over the last year to enjoy the good times to the full. H's doom has always lurked umbratilously in my mind. H has been better at forgetting herself.
It's strange in a sense that it should be so hard to escape the shadow of death. At my age we all accept our own mortality, and even as children we accept that our family will not live forever. I think the difference here is not so much the untimeliness of it as the expectation of life going on after her.
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