Because we live in a culture that doesn't talk about death, I am innately curious. It's the ultimate unspoken thing -final, unchangeable, ridiculous - that my brain wants to unpack and understand.
The next week (or so) has been bequeathed from hell to challenge me.
My mum is and always has been my safe place to fall. And as I get older, I'm becoming more and more aware that some day I won't have her there.
Sometimes, when I wake up at night and my dogs are lying around me, I have to reach out and check they are still breathing.
I wish I could tell him how he took an angry, lonely, confused little queer autistic girl, and gave her the tools she needed to survive.
If I die, take me home to my bed and hold my hand; cuddle me like you've always done, as if bringing me down from a meltdown.