Death as an acknowledged event – accepted, natural, inevitable, unknowable, mysterious, mundane, ordinary. But because we don’t talk about it, it is a fearful event, denied, disavowed, stared-off. My beautiful daughter-in-law had breast cancer. She was 31 when she was diagnosed. She believed God (and modern medicine) would make her better. So we never spoke about death with her, or with my son. When she died 2.5 years later, the church was crammed to the rafters. So much love, so many people, but her dying was officially denied until they found brain tumours 3 months before. Then, we were supposed not to tell her. It was the armour of the protection that surrounded her provided by her loving, close family that prevented us from sharing the experience more wholeheartedly. Even now, after 7 years, her mother is bereft and cannot let her rest. But I am always happy that she was a part of my life. So I want to find a way to talk about my own death, my own dying, to share that wondering, and that living, however much is left.
