When the reactor happened, I counted myself among those who got off lightly. My children were safe, my husband wasn’t going to live much longer anyway, and my flesh was already toughened with age. In essence I had nothing to lose. And anyway, I was prepared to die. My work had always taught me always to keep that possibility in mind so as never to be caught by surprise. I marvel every single day at the fact that I’m still here. And every second day I ask myself whether I might be one of the many dead who wander around unwilling to acknowledge that their name is already inscribed on a gravestone somewhere. They need to be told, but who is that brazen? I’m happy that nobody has anything left to say to me. I’ve seen everything and have no more fears. Death can come, just let it come gracefully, please.