She seemed like such a permanent part of the fixtures and fittings of our country, that I imagined she’d live forever.
It’s made me think of mortality, and how much time we might have left. None of us is completely safe from the grim reaper.
I know, she was very old and it was to be expected, etc. But on Tuesday, she was appointing the new PM, upright, smiling, conversing.
And on Thursday, she was dead.
They say she died of “old age”, but is it that quick? Was she holding on, to do that last thing? She’s been looking tiny and vulnerable for a few years, now, and is obviously leaning on her stick. This is how I remember my great grandma, towards the end of her life.
Her right ankle is swollen. Her spine is crumbled with osteoporosis. This is what it is, to be a great age, even with money and power and position. Discomfort, some pain, feeling cold.
This article gives a sense of the permanence though and the continuity, explaining what has remained unchanged in that very room, even back to Queen Victoria’s day.
I wonder if she knew, even through that bright smile, that this was the end. Maybe she was glad.