Going out on top

It takes a lot for a news story nowadays to take your breath. But I lost an intake tonight at the death of Elisabeth Sladen.

It is too incomprehensible in a woman who barely aged in 30 years and returned from the wilderness to her own series and unfettered acclaim to the children of her home country (including my brother's kids).
And with not so much as minimal warning in Heat magazine.

I have never thought it is best to go out on top. It is usually too cowardly. Unless it is forced on you.

Don't tell the marathon runners who run mainly for personal challenge (and because they like running) rather than a huge love of the Alzheimer's Society or the latest gene defect of the week.
But cancer does not bow to positive affect and happy success.

It may wave occasionally before flipping the bird. But it doesn't bow. Unless it feels like it.
Or unless it is misdiagnosed by a useless pathologist or an equally useless radiologist. They prefer the term 'cure' to put to their mistakes. It is so much cheaper.

I can't rationalise it because I don't get it.
But it takes someone with the articulateness of Steven Moffat to say something like,
"When people say you shouldn't meet your heroes, they weren't referring to Liz Sladen"