After Great Aunt Militza died I was thinking in the kitchen. I was standing up at the time and looked behind me as part of my thinking.
The sensation or image I had was that I had thought I was passing through life, as if walking at my own pace over a long widely spanned bridge. As I stood there I had been looking towards my desk as the far shore I would reach in due course.
Then I turned and looked behind me towards the kitchen door. All of a sudden I realised that a big chunk of the bridge I had walked over safely had just fallen into the waters, all at once. So instead of having the whole expanse stretching behind me, just there, showing how far I'd come, I had a big gap which came close to where I was standing.
Would I be able to get to the other side in time, before further sections of the bridge collapsed, with me on it? Getting to the far side seemed perhaps out of reach, instead of a certain goal which I could take my time with.
'My time' - what an assumption.