No one likes talking about dying. Once you start talking about dying you think, shit
I’m going to die now. It’s not just superstition. You will die. Not because you
tempted fate by scandalously talking of death. Because everyone dies. It’s the
only guarantee we have in life. We delude ourselves that we are immortal. We try
to stay young. We inject botox and use words like longevity and age defying. We
use creams to ‘fight the affects of ageing’ but while you might fight superficial
affects such as wrinkling dimpling and saggy arse, you can’t apply creams that
stop you dying. No pharmaceutical company has yet mastered a topical cream that
can claim to be ‘death defying’. We get old and die. We stay young and die. I
could die right now. I could have a heart attack and never finish this article. I’m
having a panic attack just thinking about it. It’s terrifying. So I don’t think about it. I
don’t think about it so much I actually forget. So every time someone dies I get a
shock. But if I think about it rationally, someone dying is the most natural thing on
earth. It’s like being in a raffle where everyone’s number is eventually up. I
imagine the grim reaper less like a hooded guy with a sythe, but more a top hatted
bloke in candy stripe at a carnival on a loudspeaker sprucing ‘Everybody wins a
prize’. The prize is death. So why are we surprised ? Or traumatised? I guess
because its random. Unfair. Painful. But not entirely unexpected. In comparison
our life entry point ‘birth’ has mundane uniformity, death is like lucky dip. So how
will you die? Car accident? Cancer? Snake bite? Stroke? Choke on your tongue?
Will you fall off a mountain? Get lost on a bush walk and never return? Plane
crash? Shark attack? It’s so random that when you think about it too hard you
freak yourself out with the numerous options. My father died in a car accident
when I was 6. As a midget spectator on this drama of grief and loss I concluded
that only stupid people died. My father was drunk and drove into an oncoming car.
I figured that as long as I didn’t take risks I would live. It wasn’t until I was 8 that I
learnt everyone died. I call this period of my life, The Woody Allen years. I was the
only kid in year 2 who wrote an essay after Summer holiday called ‘Whats the
point?’ I became obsessed with death. Mainly because no one spoke to me about
it. In fact we weren’t allowed to speak of death. It made my grandmother nervous
(possibly because she felt the dark shadow of her own demise was nigh). I often
imagine how one would live one’s life if one knew one’s exact departure date and
method of departure. I think perhaps its our primitive fear of dying that has held us
back from properly living life. I wonder if one embraces death one also embraces
life? It would be a revolutionary mindset, because right now our approach is to
pretty well the opposite. I am thinking of creating a ‘death plan’. It will be in a
folder on my desk top and it will host the usual things like a will, when to turn off
the machines, but most importantly it will house the photos I want shown in my
powerpoint – the ones where I look good not you. I mean, don’t trust the living with
your powerpoint! And there will be a play list banning Hallelujah, all Jeff Buckley
songs and definitely no Eva Cassidy. I’m going for KHIA’s ‘All You Ladies Pop your
pussy like this’. It’s inappropriate and its shocking. That way I’ll still be there.
If you want to get engaged with talking about dying go to the Byron Hospice
Service (formerly Amitayus) for an evening of music, poetry and
story-telling. Death doesn’t have to be all dark and
gloomy. They are going to have cake. Drill Hall Mullum
on Wednesday 19 April at 7pm.
Please RSVP to info@byronhospice.org.au or (02)
6684 3808 for catering purposes. Thanks