My world on the web
One of the shocks when my mother passed away was when she stopped speaking. I did not realise that our last conversation was in fact our last conversation. It all seems somewhat logical now, but I certainly was not prepared. I think I was probably in denial until the end. I guess everything is easier in retrospect.
ᔥ in Documenting Death ()
That dying alone has been normalized, as if it were a small matter, is frightening and inhuman. The panic of the early days of the crisis could be seen as a temporary, terrible compromise. Since then, though, airlines have been bailed out to the tune of many billions of dollars, while there has been no rush to build more negative-pressure rooms, designed to circulate air out, at hospitals, which would allow for much safer visits. We still haven’t developed the infection-control protocols for visitors and built up supplies of personal protective equipment in ways that would avoid the need to completely isolate patients in the days and months ahead.
Even without all the wisdom of the ages, it takes a special kind of inattention to human suffering to not notice how unfortunate this is, that people have been left to face death alone. Some have come to fear dying alone more than the coronavirus itself.
Personally speaking, I found it hard enough watching my mother pass. However, I am not sure how I would have been without those opportunities and last words. It is an important issue, especially if a vaccine is not found.
Doug Belshaw (Doug Belshaw’s Thought Shrapnel)I think the best thing to take from the experience of losing someone close to us other is to begin a life worth living right now. Not putting off for the future right action and virtuous living, but practising them immediately.
Remembering our beautiful friend, Dai Barnes
To be honest, I had a pre-canned newsletter of book recommendations ready for y’all because I’m in the middle of moving studios again, but in this death-filled week, I felt like I wanted to sit down, check in with death, and check in with you
I have advice for people who are grieving or will grieve, as we all will for some reason in life: Allow it. Grief is every human emotion tangled up and out of order. There is no grieving well or not grieving well. Whatever emotions you experience are valid. Be kind to yourself, no matter what kind of crazy shit the emotional depths geyser into your conscious thought.
Men don’t really call one another up and just ‘have a chat’, which is one of the reasons why I found recording the TIDE podcast with Dai so amazing. We recorded TIDE for just over four years, from 2015 until this June. It was just like having a chat with a mate while drinking whisky, that just happened to also be a podcast.
I like your point about pragmatism. That is definitely something I have taken away from both of you over the years. Easy in words, but always a challenge in action.
David Berman died yesterday. He was 52. I am 52. There’s something strange that happens when someone the same age as you dies. You see the obituary. You notice the birth year and think hey that looks familiar. And you think wow 52 year-olds are dying now. Which shouldn’t be a shock, of course. You just don’t want to be reminded about it.
Nineteen Eighty-Four was due out in June. Terrified by its dystopian reality, his publisher told Muggeridge that booksellers who read it claimed to be too scared to sleep at night
Having watched ‘Awakenings’ I think I should have had more faith that she could ‘hear me’. I remember on the day before she died the District Nurse told me to go and sit with my mother and talk to her. I felt awkward about this. I hadn’t had a conversation with my mother, or really talked to her, for years. But I did what the nurse told me to and the last thing I said to my mother was that she was not to worry, she would not be moved from her home into a hospital (her wish was always to die in her own home) and she would not be left alone. At the time I wondered whether she had heard or understood me, but now, with hindsight, I think that she did, and that she knew I was her daughter and was reassured that she would die at home. My regret is that I didn’t talk to her more during her last weeks.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I can be struck – deeply struck – by the loss of a celebrity. Like the loss of Carrie Fisher and Prince in 2016, this one hit me hard. We tend to attach a lot of meaning to stars – and not just the meaning that Hollywood star systems and the like hope we will. Stars matter because they are inspirational and aspirational, and even when they are larger-than-life, they are, in the end, fragile and human. They live and breathe and love and suffer and die like the rest of us.
One of the things that I do believe, and most people do not understand, is that most of the wonderful things I have in my life are present because of my mother’s death. Most of my large family comes from my father remarrying. Events in my life have unfolded to put me in certain places in certain times.
I really enjoyed your reflectoon. It has certainly led me to think a little more deeply. I was particularly taken by your point about your mother’s death defining you in so many ways. I think that can also be said about a lot of those life choices not just death. Being the grandson of a European refugee who fled Communist Czechoslovakia, I am often left wondering what if, only to realise that there is no what if, just what.
Thanks you again for sharing.
Aaron
Iain McGilchrist’s stress on the importance of poetry, music and presence at a time of the death of someone you love, or indeed of anyone, resonated with me. I am fortunate to know at least two people who really understand this. As many testified at her death, my mother was unique. Had she not existed there would be a Betty-shaped hole in the Universe.
Your post has me reflecting on the death of my mother. Although it maybe a part of life, I am not sure I was willing to accept death. I naively thought she would be around seemingly forever. I remember missing our last moment together:
My last real one to one chat happened when I was least expecting it. With my step dad out picking up my brother and sister from school, I had a few moments with my mum. All of the sudden the tone of the conversation changed from being chatty, talking about this and that, but nothing in particular, to being more serious. I am not sure if it was something that I said or whether it was something that mum was just waiting to say, but she learnt forward from the couch and told me that I was a great brother, an amazing son and a fantastic husband and that I should not listen to anyone who says otherwise. In my usual manner, I tried to dodge these compliments. Like my mum, I just don’t like being pumped up. However, it didn’t occur to my till much later that these were mum’s last meaningful words for me. Although we had a few more conversations, none of them were as deep as this moment.
I am not sure how I thought she would pass, but no-one and definitely no movie prepared me the change and transformation associated with cancer.
I find your mention of music interesting. My sister and I played Miley Cyrus’ The Climb over and over in our last night with my mother as she lay there slowing passing. I remember the track playing randomly on my phone in class one day. I had to check myself, let alone somehow explain why I had Miley Cyrus on my phone to a bunch of teens.
Thank you Jenny for sharing.
Aaron
