Dying, death and being dead. I’m perfectly at ease with all three – in fact, I rather look forward to them, whenever and however they come. We’re certain these things will happen, and if we’re lucky we have plenty of time to prepare for them.

Dying is about coming to terms with the end of life. It’s a process, not an event – an opportunity to reflect on one’s achievements and impact, mistakes and oversights. It’s a time to leave nothing unsaid.

Death is about letting go – that moment of sweet surrender when you allow the inevitable to take over and relax into unconsciousness, like that delicious point between exhaustion and a much-needed sleep. Buddhist thought holds that suffering comes from struggle, and death comes when you allow both to end.

Being dead is simply about physically being no more. Everything you were persists and all that you’ve done remains, but your body has moved on for recycling. It’s exactly as things were before you were born, but the world and the people you love and who love you have had the benefit of your being. Whether life lasts minutes, days, years or decades makes no difference to the universe: you have been.

This is how I view my mortality. Life and death come as an inseparable package deal, and each of these elements play an essential part. I accept them, value them and embrace them for the essential experiences they are.

Some talk about or believe in a life after death. And of course they’re right: the stuff we’re made of has been around since the beginning of time, and will be until its end. I just think of the joyous chance and good luck that for a brief, wonderful blink of time, some of those molecules were assembled into me.