I’ve been asking myself why I don’t think about my approaching visitor, death. He was often on my mind thirty or forty years ago, I believe, though more of a stranger. Death terrified me then, because I had so many engagements. The enforced opposite (no dinner dates or coming attractions, no urgent business, no fun, no calls, no errands, no returned words or touches) left a blank that I could not light or furnish. In my mind, death had gone from spectre to a waiting second-level celebrity on the Letterman show.