' We're all in the departure lounge, waiting to see who will be next'
Life - nobody gets out of it alive. So why is contemplating death such a taboo subject?
COVER STORY
Lynn Barber
There's a great moment in the Barbie film where Margot Robbie blurts out, 'Do you guys ever think about dying? and everyone is shocked. But I can assure you that oldies like me (I'm 79) think about dying the whole time andtalk about it too. In fact, it's our absolute favourite topic of conversation. But we can only talk about it among ourselves- it's disastrous to talk about it in front of the young because they get upset. They think it means we're depressed and start recommending antidepressants, or saying, 'Oh, don't worry, you'll never die!', which just shows how stupid they are. But actually, some of my most invigorating and cheerful conversations have been with fellow oldies about dying.
Funerals or, better, memorial services are our great social events. It must be a decade or more since I went to a wedding, and I was never that keen on weddings anyway, whereas now I go to several funerals a year. They area chance to catch up with old friends and lay bets on whose funeral we'll be attending next. It's as if we're all crammed into the departure lounge, waiting to see who'll be next through the exit door: 'Oh, I didn't think it would be her, she always seemed so fit. Which → of course is often said with a certain glee when someone who wore a Fitbit, didn't drink, didn't smoke and talked about their vitamin supplements makes it out of the exit before old reprobates like me.
Naturally we oldies are all in favour of assisted dying - some of us would make it mandatory. The only question is at what age? My parents lived to 92 and I have absolutely no desire to emulate them: by the time they died they had no surviving friends. Until this year I would have said 80 was the best time to go, but that now seems a bit imminent. Make it 85, so I have time to de-clutter the house, as I'm always promising the daughters I will do. A life insurance actuary once told me that after 90 years old, your chances of dying in the next year don't noticeably increase.
You could die at 92 or 102, who could say.
I remember when I was working at Sunday Express in the 1980s being in an interview with a famous medium called Stokes. She asked if I wanted to be in touch with someone on the other side. I looked blank and asked, 'Other side of what?' She said, 'One who has passed on.
Oh, you mean dead!' I exclaimed, but she flinched at the word. 'I meant someone you loved who has passed on.
I racked my brains but, honestly, couldn't think of any. Parents? Still alive. 'Grandparents?' she pressed. Well, yes but actually both my grandfathers died before I was born and I didn't like either of my grandmothers. 'Could you put me in touch with my childhood dog, Zulu?' No, she said, she didn't do dogs. So, somewhat reluctantly, I agreed to take a message from my maternal grandmother who, Doris reported, said she was 'watching over me from the other side' , in other words spying, as usual. Poor Doris obviously found me a disappointment.
To think I was then in my late 30s and still hadn't 'lost' anyone I cared about. Death was not on my radar. But then, in my 40s, a couple of acquaintances and then a very dear friend died of Aids, and death began to move closer. I still didn't worry about it but I could see it was a possibility. And in my 50s things really sped up. Two friends died of cancer, another of alcoholism, one of a heart attack. My husband David and I used to spend every New Year in Venice with a gang of friends and pose for group shots on the balcony. Looking at those pictures now, it's like 'Ten Green Bottles' one fewer of us every year.
My husband died in 2003 when he was only 59. He developed a disease called myelofibrosis and was given a bone-marrow I was widowed before I was 60. His father transplant but died in the course of it, so and both my parents were still alive and thought it was unfair that I had to listen to complaints from three nonagenarians while newly widowed myself. But it taught me an important lesson about death: it is completely random. You can'texpect it or plan for it; it just comes. About five years ago my Twitter feed started featuring ads for 'funeral insurance' and I wondered if they knew something I didn't, but evidently not. In any case, how mad would you have to be to spend good money on paying for your own funeral? My daughters ask occasionally whether I have any special wishes for my funeral and I say,
' MY DAUGHTERS ASK IF I HAVE ANY SPECIAL WISHES FOR MY FUNERAL AND I REPLY "NO" BECAUSE I WON'T BE THERE. '
'No, because I won't be there.'
It's not death we worry about but dying, and the big question is always: how long will it take? You used to hear of people dropping dead of a sudden massive heart attack, but that seldom seems to happen any more. We all envy the late Queen dying in her bed 'of old age' but perhaps you have to be the Queen to be allowed to do that. Otherwise it's all hospitals and medical interventions which I don't fancy at all. Why does it have to be so difficult to die? Why can't doctors just hand you a death pill when they make the terminal diagnosis and say. 'Take it when you feel ready. Why do we have to ask anyone's permission to die?
Nowadays death is the last taboo. We're not supposed to talk about it. We very rarely even see except on the news. In Ireland, in the past, when Granny died, her body was laid out on the kitchen table and all the family, friends, neighbours, even children gathered round, so death was quite a familiar sight. Not now. This is crazy, isn't it? I think we should all be more accepting of death, and talk about it more, not treat it as some embarrassing unmentionable. After all, it will happen to us all. In fact, it is dead common.
Michael Odell :
I think Barbie was right to raise the question of mortality while on the dance floor. These days, it's while throwing shapes to, say, Abba's 'Dancing Queen' at a wedding reception or birthday party that I most often think, 'Christ, my knees! I'm dying here! I've just turned 60 so joint ache is a definitely an early intimation that none of this is for ever.
I'm getting plenty of other nudges from the Grim Reaper, too. Like everytime, approaching Birmingham New Street station, I pass the huge HS2 building site and inwardly say, 'I'll a probably just about see that finished: Whereas whenever I hear Elon Musk banging on about his proposed colonisation of Mars, I think, 'Hmm. I should see the first crewed flight takeoff in 2029. But the actual sustainable colony planned for 2050? I won't be around for that one unless I eat a lot more salad.'
l accept that large infrastructure projects are a funny way to measure life but I distinctly remember, as a late-20-something, watching grimy faced English and French workmen on the news, blinking away the dirt and shaking hands. The two sides had just met digging the Channel Tunnel and I thought: 'I can't wait to try that! Now I sense the world, rightly, is being shaped for younger generations.
Sometimes, sitting on the bench outside my local Waitrose, I think, 'What will I leave behind?' Only because the bench is dedicated to a local who, it says, 'loved nothing more than to sit here and enjoy the view'. The view is of a zebra crossing. Is that a life well lived? And what message would I leave to the world? My favourite is still comic author Spike Milligan's idea for a headstone: "I told you I was ill."
Still, I hope Barbie didn't get too bent out of shape at the thought of one day going to landfill. Contemplating death isn't a bad thing. A mortal reminder can work like a good G&T; it's an early evening sharpener to prime one for the fun that remains. Because, in lifetime terms, I am definitely getting into the last evening. One can either slope off early to bed or forget that niggling knee and hit the disco one last time. →
againRoll
QUIRKYROUTESTO THEAFTERLIFE
PHILIPPINESThe Igorot tribeplaces bodies incoffins nailed to cliffs,believing the deceasedneed to be as closeas possible to theiraancestral spirits.
SOUTH KOREAAshes are turned intobonhyan (beads) thatare displayed in theirfamily home, so theystay close to lovedones in their next life.
MADAGASCARThe Merina tribehas a ritual calledfamadihana, or 'turningof the bones'. Every fiveyears, the deceased areremoved from theirburial crypt andwrapped in fresh clothwhile family memberstalk to the body and
update them about
worldly events.
TIBETBuddhists embracejhator, or sky burials.Bodies are cut intopieces and left on amountain for vulturesto eat. When theyfly off, it is believedthey carry the person'ssoul to paradise.
TIMES
ary KillenVor i was roughly four, a s called up the
that age, isn't it about time I died?' For thesame reason I don't dwell on my death.
stears of our house in Northpeland, to ask
had I csaned my teeth. "Yes: ed.The voice (of a babysitte:) led back:'Did you know that wee girls who tell lies willago to hail and roast on a spit for all eterrity?The babysitter had been indoctrinated by
My friend Anne, 89, says that the palmsof her hands have become dry. 'This is whathappens to apes, she observes. 'Their handseventually lose the ability to grip branchesso they will fall off the tree and die. It'snature's way.
fire-and-brimstone church sermons of the era, but I could never ask my parents if she was right. That would have meant admitting I'd told a lie. Moreover, if she were right, then it wouldupset my parents to think of my going to hell.
I'm aware that nature will want meto be dead too one day. But what's thepoint of thinking about it? I can't knowwhat will happen to my 'soul' and thereforecan't plan ahead.
PHILIPPINESBodies of the Tinguianpeople are placedsitting in a chair for
And so I cringed in vague terror for years.As the decades rolled on I stopped believingin hell - and heaven, for that matter. I halfheartedly believed in reincarnation for a bit buthave always been too busy to think these
around three weekswearing their bestclothes, sometimes witha lit cigarette betweentheir lips, so they cancontinue enjoyingworldly pleasuresin the afterlife.
'What happens when you're dead?'I asked the late birth guru Betty Parsons.It was clear to those who met Betty thatashe had a hotline to the 'people upstairs'
things through so put them on the back burner.never want to give or think about my agebecause I'm very suggestible. Being faced withthe cold fact will make me think, 'Hang on, if I'm
'We can only perceive what wehave the faculties to perceive, answered Betty calmly. 'But whatever it is, I know it will be benign.