On February 26, 2021, I marked my 80th year – a significant milestone that now nudges me toward the elusive average lifespan of an Australian male. Each morning and evening, a vibrant array of coloured tablets greets me, each one a tiny guardian with a specific purpose, standing ready to assist me in my journey through the twilight years of life. On February 26 2026, l will turn 85.
It astonishes me how little conversation surrounds the topic of death among people, especially considering that birth offered them no such choice or opportunity to ponder on their mortality. It seems we often glide through life shielded from the inevitable, even as the vibrant hues of experience fade into a more muted palette as we grow older.
The words I write are not meant to be pessimistic or morose, even humorous, but more to the point, they are simply about the process of death.
People of my vintage often ask themselves how many more times they will be called to vote. How many grandkids’ birthdays will I see, perhaps football grand finals, tennis opens, Melbourne Cups, and all the others I may have missed? How many surprises? How many more articles for The AIMN will I write?
We often sidestep conversations about death, only confronting it when it looms near, like an unwelcome ghost. Even in those moments of stark reality, we cling to the fragile hope that its arrival might be delayed, a wishful thought that echoes in our minds. I’ve attempted to steer clear of this denial, reminding myself of my philosophy regarding negativity – yet the allure of evasion remains.
Encourage us to recount tales of our beginnings, and we will weave a tapestry of recollections, interwoven with countless second-hand anecdotes – stories handed down through the ages, rich with the warmth of family lore (or starting to).
Death is often shrouded in layers of mystery, but it is not as impenetrable as it seems. It stands in stark contrast to the miracle of birth, both events intertwined in the intricate fabric of existence.
Yet, death hovers like an elusive shadow, quietly entwined within the fabric of our daily lives, waiting for the moment we must face its reality. When that inevitable moment arrives, it often unfurls as a chaotic whirlwind of emotions, stirring a tumult of feelings within us.
For me, my encounter with this profound truth became a pivotal turning point; I found myself unexpectedly enveloped in a wave of positivity, a response that filled me with a grace I had never anticipated.
In those still moments of introspection, whether alone or the comforting presence of a friend or loved one, we grapple with profound questions that bring forth our deepest insecurities.
The absence of prior experience leaves us feeling vulnerable, yet this vulnerability opens the door to an abundance of raw, unfiltered emotion.
I vividly recall this moment recently when the weight of my doctor’s sombre news regarding my illness bore down on my wife and me like an impending storm. We returned home, our hearts heavy with dread, envisioning the worst possible outcomes. However, as the initial shock began to wane, I embarked on a short journey of self-reflection. In that process, I was struck by a surge of unexpected strength; my reaction evolved into something surprisingly calm, uplifting and transformative.
Can you remember your first experience of loss? When death first appeared in your life with any consequence. When your emotions are stirred by an unexplained deprivation of something once enjoyed.
When the heart grapples with the intertwining of death and loss, it is a landscape fraught with confusion and turmoil. This dance between the inevitable and the unexpected reveals itself through the prism of our shared experiences. Only when we have tasted the bitterness of loss can we begin to comprehend its full weight.
Yet, the gnawing anxiety that it brings often shadows us, silently threading through the composition of our lives.
We skirt around the edges of this profound truth until it looms large, obstructing our path to joy and fulfilment. Many older individuals, in a desperate bid to shield themselves from the harshness of reality, lavish hopeful illusions upon themselves, convincing their hearts that life and its trials are merely a ceaseless tale of endurance.
People of faith cling to the comforting promise of a life beyond this one, yet conviction doesn’t always flow as freely as hope. For some, the idea that our current existence serves merely as the prelude to something greater can feel like an unwelcome dismissal of the life they hold dear.
In the labyrinth of my journey, I often find myself revisiting these themes, striving to weave them into a tapestry that reveals the more profound meanings lurking beneath the surface. However, this quest usually leads me to a battleground where reason clashes with the surge of raw emotion. I yearn to decipher the lines between the purpose and reason for our existence.
I believe that one should always part from loved ones with words steeped in affection, for it may be the final farewell.
Through countless observations over the years, I have come to view the purpose of life as procreation – a natural pull to propagate our species. As for the reason behind it, perhaps it is sufficient to know that life unfolds without the pressing need for answers.
Life without a formal education unfolded as an intricate web of questions for me. Some inquiries lead to revelations, while others dissolve into new mysteries, rapidly transforming into yet more questions. This complexity encapsulates the vastness of our human experience.
I wish to avoid that all-consuming “shock horror” mentality that accompanies the sudden loss of a cherished one. The quest for answers often results even more confusion.
The journey of reflecting on this process holds significant importance for me. I yearn for my family to understand the breadth of my life’s experience – the vibrant complexities of love and disappointment, the need of refinement that accompanies imperfection, the inner sanctum that binds us together, and the radiant moments of joy intertwined with life’s inevitable challenges and conclusion. Yet, they have witnessed much of this themselves. The excitement of having a go, no matter what and learning by example.
Many families find themselves woefully unprepared for the departure of a loved one, mainly because conversations about death are often silenced or ignored. While the sudden nature of some passing’s – whether through illness, tragedy or the naturalness of dying can take us by surprise, we are generally aware of the path that life ultimately takes.
In the depths of your dying, you may lose your appetite, experience aches and pains, sleep too long or not enough. Feel depressed, melancholy, or hopeless, and experience anger towards the world, yourself, or your loved ones. Feel guilty for things left unsaid or undone, or feel unable to concentrate.
All of these feelings and sensations are grief’s way of making its presence known. These reactions are the normal, human response to loss. Best to have them known before the onset of further change that may bring on more heartache.
The methods of dying are as varied as the lives we’ve led, leaving a veil of unpredictability over the end of our stories. As we approach the twilight of our days, it becomes essential to reflect on the conversations that can fortify our family against the emotional storms ahead.
How do we find meaning in what’s happening? Sharing your thoughts, experiences, and wisdom can be very constructive. Talking with loved ones also gives them a chance to help you find ways to cope and ease some of your fears.
Forgiveness may play a pivotal role in the journey, alongside the heartfelt expression of love.
If you are seeking the purest embodiment of love, look no further than the sacred bond of motherhood.
Failing to articulate your legacy and your hopes for remembrance to your family can render a life lived in vain, stripping away its significance and diminishing its value.
Make space to speak with your family about your mortality; discuss how you wish for your life to end and your desires for the rituals that will follow.
For many who believe, reconciling with their maker or righting past wrongs can be a source of solace, though it may bewilder those who hold different beliefs.
Judgments must be set aside, allowing love and understanding to fill the gaps left in their reflections about you.
Death can come in many forms – prolonged and agonising (I think of war) or sudden and jarring. Not everyone finds solace in the comfort of a hospital bed or gentle palliative care.
I envision a departure that is simple even bland with an undercurrent of frivolity. I have shared these thoughts candidly with my wife, finding peace in the clarity of our conversation.
My thought for the day
A Death Certificate might show proof of death but the legacy you leave behind will demonstrate how you lived.
Also by John Lord:
Manipulation lurks in the shadows of our daily lives, far more pervasive than we often realise
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No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell;
*Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night*.
A well known piece Leefe. Thanks.
More John Lord wisdom.
Thanks NEC but l don’t think l’m any wiser than others but it is a wonderful compliment none the less.
And there are those so young that may leave us.
Either fast or slow.
What would be their ruminations?
Or their reasoning?
Might that they had reasoning at all?
re. Clakka’s comment: a colleague in the mid-seventies, a young man overflowing with energy, intelligence, humour, good-nature, a practiced martial artist… suicided. An overdose of an antidepressant, taken in the bathroom in the hospital where we worked. Why? His beautiful wife had left him for the man she was having an affair with. Noel’s plunge into deep depression was just awful to witness and despite being surrounded by kind & wise friends, he succumbed to the desolation and broken-hearted sadness of his betrayal and loss. Missed forever, too sad.
Another friend, this one a vivacious & beautiful young woman who welcomed me into her arms and the warmth of her bed, died alone in an all-too-common fashion, with a needle in her arm in a Kings Cross nightclub bathroom. Having also danced with a variety of devils and walked along the thinnest of edges between this life and the next, Trixie’s loss was unsurprising, albeit heartbreaking and pointless.
For many of us, we are never to learn that this gift of life is profound and needs to be nurtured and cherished. Adults who suffered as children, whose parents were incapable of offering critically needed support, love, guidance, care… these children are often those whose lives become a constant struggle in quest of meaning, contact, relationship, often a never-ending flight from never-ending pain. Life on easy street is merely a chimera, never to be found. Statistically, these are the people at most risk, and one does not need to be too deeply analytical to guess at their ruminations and reasonings.
Wow what a fantastic explanation. So well written & thoughtful! Thank you for your insight John. I’d love to follow you on any socials you’re on! You’re insightful!
Congratulations, lord, well written. with your thought being right up there with your others!
You show your era, with the use of ‘dead’ and ‘death’, whilst the modern man only ‘passes on’.
Long may you defy your age, and your disease, with your words.
As another pre-Pearl Harbour baby, I hope to raise a glass to you on Feb 26 next year.
ps
Cangaru, sadly, depression and suicide often go hand in hand.
50 years ago, a Vietnam vet dropped his son at school then went home and shot his wife and himself.
Early this century, a group of retired teachers had been taking it in turns to sit every night, with a soon to be retired deputy principal, till he got a spot in the ‘mental’ ward. But he signed himself out tied a rope around his neck and jumped off the balcony.
I have a couple of sayings about life:
“Everything that has happened in your past was fate. Everything to happen in your future is destiny. Today the two paths meet. Today your destiny begins.”
“A person without a dream is a person without a destiny.”
The greatest conceit that we keep hearing over and over, “That will never happen to me.”