Every so often, Dad calls to reassure himself that we will look after Mum when he goes to that creepy place in the sky. And every so often, Mum calls as well to make sure that Dad will be taken care of when she goes to that creepy place in the sky - we have even been given the names of his vitamins. Erm, in all fairness, Dad has absolutely no clue what vitamins Mum takes, so we cannot foolishly assume that he loves her less.
And I worry about Beloved Husband too. Hope he still has a sense of humour - enough to charm some woman into living with him who lovingly ensures that he takes his tablets and scrubs his piggy filthy feet before he goes to bed after I join my cadaverous ancestors. Which could be as soon as tomorrow (she said in a gloomy voice). Have been listening to Pink Floyd in a fit of teen nostalgia and I know for sure that I'm "Shorter of breath and one day closer to death." Also that "One day you'll find, ten years have got behind you, no one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun" - or some such deep shit about the meaninglessness of life. All this has hit home a little harder because a friend's wife has been rushed for a brain tumour surgery and he's a gabbling mess.
Fortunately, I played The Who soon after, and am feeling decidedly exuberant (they always make me feel upbeat about life).