DTH

Much more difficult is giving up the prospect of the future. Not so much my own as that of my children and
grand-children. Not to be there to see them make their way through life. And not just to see them. To be
beside them when they hit sorrow, as they will, for no one misses it. To be someone they talk about, no
longer someone they talk to. That’s what the English poet Philip Larkin most hated about death. He
described it as:
. . . the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true