**Diary Entry**
The other day, my grandmother felt dizzy, and when the paramedics arrived, the doctor decided not to take any chancesoff to the hospital she went. Once there, they made it perfectly clear that at her age, prancing about to the theatre with her elderly friends simply wasnt proper. Death was, after all, just around the corner, and one ought to meet it as one shouldin ones own bed, not at a poker night with a friend.
Grandmother, being a woman of thought and taste, decided to approach dying with deliberation. First, she stocked her bedside table with enough medicine to open a small chemists. The air soon carried the sharp scent of valerian drops. Second, she made sure the rest of us sacrificed our time and sanity to assist in her grand departure. She fussed, demanded new prescriptions, and summoned either a doctor or a solicitorwhichever suited her mood.
Mum ran herself ragged trying to appease her, insisting it wasnt quite her time yet. In response, Gran would roll her eyes and ask for another dose of valerian.
Then one afternoon, her old friend Mabel paid a visit. Thank goodness I was there to witness it.
So, I hear youve finally decided to kick the bucket, Mabel announced in her gravelly voice. Bravo. Someones got to be the first to scout out the other side. But tell me honestlydo you really intend to lie in your coffin looking like *that*?
Gran muttered that she couldnt care less how she appeared in the box.
You might not care, Mabel shot back, but *I* have to look at it! Worse, Ill have to kiss it! What will people think? Theyll turn up expecting a proper funeral and feel thoroughly swindled. I couldnt possibly face them!
What do other people have to do with it? Gran exclaimed.
Because theyll come thinking theyre burying Mabels dear friend, and Mabel doesnt associate with just *anyone*. If they see you like this, theyll assume weve swapped you out for some ghastly imposter! And why all these medicines? Are you trying to poison yourself?
Im easing my suffering, Gran protested weakly.
Youre ruining your liverand nothing gives you a worse complexion than a bad liver. Do you *want* people to take one look at you in the coffin and flee in horror?
Gran pondered this and conceded that a healthy glow *would* be preferable in death. Mabel agreed and suggested a brisk walk outside to restore some colourfar more dignified for the final rest.
I stood there, gaping, as my supposedly dying grandmother shuffled out of bed and into the shower, which shed refused to step into for weeks. Meanwhile, Mabel, wrinkling her nose, ordered me to strip the bed for washing and prepare two strong coffeesspiked with a generous splash of brandy. Good for the nerves, she declared. And, as youve gathered, one ought to face eternity with steady nerves and a strong heart.
Mabel became so invested in Grans funeral preparations that she spent the next fortnight whipping her into shape. They visited the hairdresser, the masseuse, and the beautician. They shopped for all sorts of charming accessoriesa veiled hat, gloves, cosmeticsbecause, naturally, the afterlife demands style.
Now, Gran isnt the least bit worried about her send-off. She knows itll be first-class. To pass the time, shes resumed her outingspoker nights, picnics, and all. If Death wants me, she says, it can jolly well come looking.
Though, so far, the old reaper hasnt bothered. Probably still waiting for her complexion to improve.
