Precious one. And she was precious. Not for some sweet loveliness. She wasn’t sweet. She was fierce. A fierce force, intractable, dogmatic, sharp-tongued. But also enchanting in her still-childlike spirit for life. She died yesterday at ten minutes past six in the morning. She was still in hospital, though not in A&E. They’d moved her to the stroke ward. Her sons said that she was calmer towards the end and her skin had stopped itching. She wanted to die, they said. Why can’t I die? they told me she’d said, adding that she saw it as a failure, this not dying. She died peacefully. I wish I could die like that, one of the sons said. They’ve given me a key. Go in and draw, they said. Yes. I will.
