Death becomes her: We should all be as comfortable talking about our eventual end as my mom
Jo Davies says her mom has done her planning and is 'ready to go,' and that's a healthy thing
I was at the nail salon last week having my toes done when an elderly man came in. Tall, white-haired and bespectacled, he sat down, smiling at the young woman who introduced herself as his nail technician.
The owner came over and asked him where his wife was that day. Had he left her behind?
"She died in December," he replied.
You could've heard a pin drop. The salon owner stopped smiling. The technicians looked at her, then at each other. It seemed every ounce of air in the room had suddenly evaporated.
"My nails still grow, though," he added quietly.
It was kind of him, trying to ease the tension in the room with humour, but it was still awkward.
If you want to shut down a conversation faster than North Korea signs anti-nukes agreements, just mention death.
No matter that we all know we're going to eventually leave this astral plane; for some reason, death is hard to talk about.
Many share intimate details of their sex lives, how much they paid for their trip to Mexico, the gory details of their gallbladder surgery, but mention death and most people can't change the topic fast enough.
'My mom is ready to go'
Most people, but not all. My mom, for example, is quite fine with discussing her eventual death. Not in a morbid way. More like something she's added to her grocery list: buy milk; get car serviced; shuffle off this mortal coil.
She informed me last year that she's already picked out which hymns she wants sung at her funeral, plus what she wants served at the reception afterward. She reminds me regularly where she keeps her will, and what she'd like done with her body.
I wouldn't be surprised if she writes her own obituary. I have no doubt it would be great.
Yes, my mom is ready to go.
Not that she's anywhere near dying. She's 82 and still ticking away. Both her parents lived into their 90s.
It's true that the knee she wrenched skiing in Thunder Bay at 17 pains her more nowadays. Arthritis is slowly warping her lovely hands, the ones she used to play the piano, violin, viola and accordion once upon a time. Her hearing is an issue, but not one that hearing aids can't help.
According to her, everything is fine. She's enjoying life just as much as she did in her younger days, the only glitch (albeit a profound one) being that her darling husband (my dad) has been gone these 25 years.
Planning ahead
Statistics Canada states that the median age of Canadians is now 40.6 years. While that doesn't sound too old to me, considering I'm turning 50 this year (ahem), it isn't spring chicken territory, either. What it means is that a whole whack of us are middle-aged or older.
Whether we want to or not, we're going to have to confront death, be that in the form of funeral planning, writing wills or picking burial plots (or not, if you're considering an alternative method of disposal).
I'm all for planning ahead, especially if it means your friends and relatives will know that you've had direct input into the proceedings.
My co-worker Steff has her funeral all sorted out, at least in theory. Apparently, "funeral sandwiches" will feature prominently. You know the type: crusts cut off, fancy fillings, pinwheel shapes or perhaps spears of asparagus or other veggies cleverly wrapped up.
Turns out Steff craved them when she was pregnant, to the point she contemplated crashing a wake just to have some. Now she's determined to have those at her funeral.
I hope she does. I like to think of folks standing around eating them and giggling, thinking about how much she loved them.
Going out in style
As a writer, I'll probably end up writing my own obituary. Besides being a complete egomaniac, I can't think of anything that would please me more than writing something that could bring a smile or even a laugh to my dear ones on what might be a tough day for them.
The point is, when you decide to get comfortable with the inevitability of dying, it opens up a lot of possibilities for saying goodbye your way.
Want a green burial? There are companies who provide those now.
Want to make sure your favourite niece or nephew gets that knick-knack you've been keeping for them? Put it in a will.
Want to pick the playlist at your funeral? Make your own, and make sure your family and friends know where it is. I'm fond of Jimmy Cliff's Many Rivers to Cross. Steff has mentioned '80s hair metal. Different strokes for different folks.
There's an old Doors song that goes "no one here gets out alive."
True, but if you plan ahead, you might just get out with style.
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