I need a plan, a serious P-L-A-N.

Madonna, madonna, madonna... give me leave to prove thee a fool.

Did you worry about your health when you were 13 and collapsing every day? When the heart palpitations started to scare you? Not really

When your doctor told you she could hear a murmur, when your potassium levels were off the charts then you worried... but to no avail - you were fine.

You have nothing yet, nothing to worry about. So you need to stop!

I'm scared - why am I scared? Because my imagination runs at fifty miles an hour? Because I want to know what's going on? Because I started getting used to my allergies, my asthma and my wrist problem being just there and there was nothing else wrong, then suddenly it feels like there is...

Part of me is also expecting to be plunged head first into grief again, this is the longest period since I was 16 where someone hasn't passed away, but within that I got into the mentality of waiting by the phone expecting the next phone call. That was a hangover from before Grandma died, from when Nanny first got really sick, before she recovered from death's door five times... when I was as used to the Hertfordshire hospitals as I was the corridors of Stantonbury - I was 13 when this started, for 7 years it's been something that... is just a kind of constant, fear, worry, grief, preparing for death, not knowing what to do - waiting for the next phone call. Between October 05 and December 08 there were 6 deaths among friends and families. So when I wrote that phrase "Grief's home my heart!" last summer it spoke more than I knew, and two people have died since then.

I want to remember the first two of that number though - they were men who held something remarkable in their character. I wish I'd known both of them better, but I was young and didn't consider the constraints of time and opportunity. I considered Maurice something special, I saw in him the eccentricity and passion that I felt in myself, he was the living image of my Grandfather and I still savour the last memory, though a silly one - my jacket fell from my shoulders, I hadn't noticed, he picked it up and handed it to me, I hadn't said hello yet, I didn't even realise it was him, I was startled, its a strange half memory from years ago, but I had a love for Maurice that earned myself the nickname of his 'girlfriend' (from his wife I might add) though it was admiration for someone who's character I recognised in myself and gave me a confidence to live to that and not care for the world's condemnation of it.

Then there was Jon Jon, now there was a man who lived for the Kingdom of God, who could captivate a room and the first person in the world who had more words than I ever did, I'd wish that his stories would go on forever and they could! I remember sitting cross legged on his sitting room floor eating rice crackers and hearing the most amazing stories of Japan. He lived to share his life, to show the world a love that it had forgotten, very beautiful - living an almost mendicant life it seemed, one day to the next. I remember the last day I saw him as well, he was concerned and had come to see Papa.

I can't live in this memories. Part of me was thinking of deleting this, but I need to let it stand. Before my heart breaks again for the things I cannot help, before my heart breaks for the grave.