I should have been expecting it, but then there’d never been any particular time frame. Probably best that way, as it would be too much to anticipate my own death all of the time.

Normally I’d have another half hour of sleep before waking to the first blushes of dawn across Finn Bay, heralded by the squawks of lorikeets in the garden outside my room. Even then, I’d resist full consciousness, aware of my body nestled into the slight dip of the mattress. The sun’s rays would begin to push into my room through a gap between the heavy night drapes and for a while would strike at just the right angle, allowing me to focus on the warmth delivered to the paper-thin and rucked skin of my right side. This sensation and the birdsong afford me two of life’s few remaining pleasures. In the still-subdued light I’d let myself drift in and out, fully aware of my aged body’s tender pressure points, but too dozy to let myself care.

But it’s still dark, and I don’t hear the sound of my door swinging on its hinges. The first indication I’m not alone is when a shock of cool, silky material is contoured around my nose, cheeks and mouth, jolting me from my stupor.  I know from the overpowering smell of lavender that the fabric belongs to a cushion, a Christmas gift designed to help me sleep. How fitting.

My eyelids shoot open but the cushion blocks the face of my assailant. I don’t need my eyes, though, to tell me whose weight is being used to smother me, who has been kind and brave enough to agree to perform this ultimate, unselfish act of love. My memory might be rotting away but I’ve known this moment was coming, and I welcome it…

Continue reading the extract here…

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