"I've never been happier in my life," says aid worker Simon Boas as he faces death.

"I've never been happier in my life," says aid worker Simon Boas as he faces death.

In September 2023, Simon Boas was diagnosed with throat cancer. At just 46, he was told the disease was terminal and would ultimately take his life.
Over the following year, he compiled his reflections on life into a book titled *A Beginner's Guide to Dying*, set to be published posthumously in October.
In what he anticipates to be one of his final interviews, Simon spoke with Emma Barnett on the Today Programme, sharing his thoughts on life and death as he transitioned into hospice care.
"My pain is under control and I'm terribly happy—it sounds weird to say, but I'm as happy as I've ever been in my life. I used to think I'd rather be hit by the proverbial bus, but having a few months to prepare has really helped me handle the necessary 'death-min,' gather my thoughts, prepare myself, and feel so accepting of what's to come. It's been such a great bonus, actually.
The book is called *A Beginner's Guide to Dying*, but really, what I'm trying to convey is how enjoying life to the fullest kind of prepares you for this. In some ways, I was lucky that my life and career took me to places where death is more a part of life than it is for us in the West. 
I spent my life as an aid worker, often with the UN, in places like the Gaza Strip, Rwanda, Sierra Leone, and Ukraine. Seeing people there, for whom death is such a part of life—they lose children, they don't know where the next meal is coming from—has really helped me. I've also been a Samaritan for the past four years, sometimes on the line with people ending their lives. Death has been more a part of my life than for many people. It does us all good to think about it. 
Not in a gloomy way, but by realizing it's inevitable and a part of life, it throws life into perspective, helping you enjoy it more and prioritize the important things. My family is about to go through the most difficult thing in their lives. My lovely wife, Aurelie, and my parents are well surrounded, and I hope my cheerfulness in the face of leaving life might help them in the coming years.
All our lives are like little books—we're a chapter, a page, or a footnote in someone else's life, and they will continue writing beautiful chapters after we're gone. Those green shoots can grow around grief and put it in perspective. I hope people will think, 'I'm glad I read Simon's story.' Just because it's over doesn't mean it's gone.
You don't need to be a politician, a mover and shaker, or an aid worker to make a difference. We all do. I love this quote from George Eliot's *Middlemarch*: 'The effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistorical acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.'
We all make a huge difference. Most films about time travel revolve around changing one tiny thing in the past, and they come back to the present to find everything different. If you project that forward, you can change huge amounts of things into the future. Our tombs will be unvisited in a few years, our actions mostly unremembered, but the smile you gave the checkout lady or the kind words to a stranger could still be rippling forward. We all have that opportunity and it's a huge power. I want everyone to realize how special and precious they are.
I love melted cheese, but I haven't been able to eat since Christmas. Chemotherapy killed my taste buds and radiotherapy killed my salivary glands. However, my oncologist and hospice team have given me full permission to enjoy as much Muscadet and as many cheeky roll-ups as I want, and I shall certainly indulge in those while spending time with my family. 
I'm not looking forward to my final day, of course—that's the wrong way to see it. But I'm kind of curious about it, and I'm happy and ready. As Julian of Norwich said, 'All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.'
Simon Boas, from Jersey in the Channel Islands, expects to move into a hospice on Thursday, where he will spend his final days surrounded by his family.
When the Today Programme checked in with him that morning, he was, unsurprisingly, in good spirits.