Goodnight Mister Tom

 When the news broke last night of the death of Sir Tom Moore, 100 year old garden lapping hero, I never thought I would write about it this morning.

 I’m an old cynic. The death of a 100 year old man, who I never knew would normally be unlikely to occupy my thoughts. I knew it would be news for most people but I didn’t expect to give it more than one second’s thought. 

First, I started to think about headline writers and wondered what they’d come up with. I thought of them all cursing whoever’s decision it was to make Captain Tom Moore an honorary Colonel rather than a Major. If they could have linked Bowie to the hero of the pandemic they could have sold loads of papers.

Then I worried about the mental health of the nation that had chosen a centenarian as their ‘beacon of hope’ for the pandemic. For a nation that struggles to accept death that was always going to end badly.

For a long time I had struggled to get my head round the idea that this nice little old man who had raised money for the NHS (which should have been properly funded by the government) by walking around his garden was actually a hero. To be honest, I struggle with the concept of heroes anyway because mostly it seems to be luck. There were lots of people raising money and there still are and no one will ever know why that one took off like it did. Life is all about luck and I think it can be really hard for the people who deserve to be heroes but are never recognised. Most people are heroes because it’s human nature to do the best with what you have.

However, this morning I have woken up thinking that Tom is a hero for another reason. He had a great death. If I could choose how I die (and sadly none of us can) that’s how I’d do it. I would live every moment. Nothing, not even a pandemic, or being one hundred years old with failing lungs would stop me enjoying every second of my life. I would embrace every opportunity. I might make a terrible record, write a great children’s book or even travel and get one final beach holiday in before I go. I would be a nice person. I would have a great family. I would know I was loved.I would accept that living forever wasn’t an option gracefully. My family would get to be with me at the end to say goodbye but medical care would control the pain, so they didn’t have to watch me suffer. It would also be quick and not drag on for weeks, months or years. 

I could feel sad for the families that didn’t get that but instead I’m going to hold onto that beacon of hope that if Tom Moore can have a good death then maybe it’s possible for all of us.