Death augurs dread

But Who Wants to Live Forever?

My mother exploded in tears when funeral plan suggestions were presented to her

Any discussion on death, dying and funeral plans for the future within a family could be dire and dreary. It’s one topic that hardly anyone could have an appetite for, unless. (But let me touch on this unless in a bit.)

Death is inevitable. As soon as we are born the shadow of death, no matter how faint and ridiculous, hangs out there.

It may come for us a hundred years later.

It may come a few short breaths after popping out of our mother’s womb.

Preparing for the inevitable

The first time I realized how awkward this topic could be, that of preparing for the inevitable, was when my siblings and I sat down with our mother to discuss it.

I have five sisters and two brothers. During that time, most of us were overseas: in Europe, in the Middle East, in Australasia. As it was most difficult for all of us to be in Manila at the same time, it was an ideal occasion for us to ask Mother her choice.

Would she like to be cremated? Otherwise, would she like to be interred in the same plot with the dear departed stepfather in the memorial park close by? Or maybe she’d like a separate cemetery plot?

My stepfather (father to six of my siblings) and my mother were estranged for a long, long time. Which was why my siblings and I thought Mother might prefer such separation even in death.

(I’m not trying to be funny here, honestly.)

Mother was in her late 50s then. She was healthy, with no medical condition at all; she enjoyed a tipple of brandy every now and then. But discussing plans with her for when she passes away, we found out, was taboo.

She got upset. Very.

Wrongfully, she accused us with tears of wanting her to die, hence, the subject of funeral plans that she would prefer.

(Full disclosure here: my seven siblings and I have nothing to inherit when our surviving parent passes away.)

Preparing for the foreseeable final goodbye

My other first time to be in the middle of a discussion about death, dying and funeral plans occurred some four years ago.

A couple, both retired and members of my extended family, had taken me for a tour of a historic stately home in Lincolnshire in England.

On the drive back to Derbyshire where the couple lived and where I would be dropped, Elaine (not her real name) started to share what she wanted for her funeral. She wasn’t mardy about it.

She was, in fact, vivacious in insisting that her favorite pair of walking boots be placed on top of her coffin, instead of funeral bouquets. She was an active member of the Ramblers, Britain’s biggest walking community.

Her husband, Tobias (not his real name) who was driving, just laughed. He asked his wife whether she wanted her walking boots cleaned of mud before displaying it on her coffin.

I was very uncomfortable. Elaine and I were seated together on the backseat. She chose to sit with me, instead of in front of the car with Tobias, so she and I could have a more engaged conversation.

I started to tear up but tried hard not to show.

At that time, Elaine’s breast cancer had metastasized to her stomach and bones. With modern medications, however, she was able to have good days — no pain — after a week or more of “bad” days after every treatment.

Then Elaine suggested to her husband that he should also choose not to have flowers on top of his coffin.

Tobias was also a rambler. But when they weren’t on their walking trips, he went on his bike on his own for miles and miles. The couple were very much into exercise and nature.

Elaine said, “I couldn’t put your mountain bike on top of your coffin, could I? I’d rather that I put your very worn-out map on it.”

She then showed me this well-used, well-thumbed roadmap of England, retrieved from the car’s glove compartment.

“That,” Elaine said to me, “would show those attending his funeral what he’d miss most when he died.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Of course,” Elaine added quickly, “I would die before Tobias. I’ve already arranged with family when they can take me to the hospice of my choice. I don’t want to die at home.”

I was already choking. I was aware of her health issues from years ago, and her latest prognosis. Bad.

“Unlike Tobias,” Elaine continued without a pause, “he hasn’t yet fully planned his funeral. Too early, I think. His doctor hasn’t yet called to inform us whether the suspicious cells found during his annual medical was his prostate cancer metastasizing.”

As uncomfortable as I was with the topic, Elaine turned to me.

She said with firmness that when I die, the romance novels I wrote would be the most fitting objects to be placed on top of my coffin.

Talk about a sombre atmosphere enveloping us, three, in the car while we drove along the East Midlands countryside.

And I could no longer contain my tears. Not for myself (I’m healthy as a horse) but for the lovely couple with me who were discussing their funeral plans in a light-hearted manner.

Elaine, the one who knew that her inevitable demise was already on the horizon, comforted me.

This irony of life smacked me in the face.

The healthy ones (like me) felt uncomfortable with the topic.

Those who knew that their end was on the horizon handled the topics of their death and dying and funeral plans with ease. And from my other personal experiences within my close and extended family, this has been mostly the case.

Death and dread

None of us will live forever. There is no theoretical limit to human lifespan according to the Royal Society; however, living up to age 130 and beyond within this century would still be highly unlikely without major medical and social advances.

Who wants to live forever, anyway?

Not me. I don’t fear death, though. What I’m worried about is passing on to the Great Beyond without completing my works in progress.

And I don’t dread funeral plans.

Although recently when I watched television between 1:00 p.m. and 3:00 p.m. on a weekday, I was miffed. Adverts after adverts about end-of-life care, funeral plans and cremation services seemed to curtsy to me.

My mother is in her early 80s now. She still did not want to discuss what she wanted for when the inevitable caught up with her. Her mind is going, but physically she’s relatively robust.

As for Elaine, she passed away less than a year after our visit to Lincolnshire. That was my last stately-homes jaunt with her. Toby’s cancer was still in regression.

And I have decided not to chill out in front of the television during the hours when TV commercials target the elderly and the infirm with hospice care, funeral plans and cremation services.

But I wouldn’t mind seeing an advertisement showing colorful urns from which I could make a choice.

I know I can’t live forever.

I don’t want to.

What about you?

The best reasons for preparing for one’s death was articulated by Olivia Marlene. She knew that death is a rather morbid topic but her pragmatism and her level of love and caring for her child is admirable.

In response to Michael Burg, MD (AKA Medium Michael Burg), who had an open challenge to everyone to write about death, do check his piece about death. If anyone could inject humor in a story about death, that’s him.

Please also check this poem by Isla Orange, a writer of fiction who writes poems occasionally. You may want to give her a follow as she has less than a hundred as of this writing.

Rhea Anglesey, a Kiwi-Indian writer from New Zealand and a polymath (on her good days), shares an interesting article on the steps she would take to become better.

Thank you very much for reading!

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