Well, I can't find it

There was a video on Youtube of the Belgian royal palace exploding. A spoof, but I thought it was well done (not experienced in these things...). You see so much of this on the news and what gets me, all the time, is the un-heard moment before it explodes - whatever it is, a car, a bin, a person, a building - the suck-in of breath, then the bang, and the shrieking valkyrie chorus of car alarms. The Big Bang we're all looking out for, with one eye, when we walk down city streets. The reason we don't walk past rubbish bins without thinking about death. The big bang that ends life, rather than begins it. The big bang that defines so much of our life, so we wonder all the time if we're living in the suck-in of breath, the moment you only know about after it's happened.
They say cancer asserts itself. It is there, present, latent, passive in the body until something triggers its land mine, lights its fuse. Then, bang. A slow, soft bang. Spreading out through the body in waves of gentle destruction, that gather and gather like waves in a rocky cleft. I've sat on a rock and watched gentle waves roll in, catch in the throat of the cliff and slap each other to foam.
What is it like, living under a death sentence? Do you sit and think: "This moment, this drop of time will never come again." Do you stay awake late so as not to miss a moment of the dark room, the sound of traffic in the distance, the streetlamps yellowing the curtains, your partner sleeping beside you - does all this become addictive? Do you ever again wish time away?
I want to keep everything inside me, remember everything, drink it with my eyes, but I realise that I'm impermanent. I'm not a museum for light, I am a glass with no base, and the world pours through me, and light pours through me, and everything seen is not remembered, just filtered through and lost.
Light is time: become invisible, live forever.