befriending our mortality
DO YOU GUYS EVER THINK ABOUT DYING?
Hello there,
Thanks for choosing to read this newsletter. For those of you getting this for the first time, welcome. My name is Grace Pengelly: I’m a writer, editor and new(ish) parent. I hit send on The Murmuration every other Thursday, writing on culture, books and (invariably), my life. My wonderful paid subscribers also receive Golden Hour, a weekly newsletter where I review cool things (like Brandon Taylor’s The Late Americans) or share a little bit about my creative practice. If you’ve been receiving The Murmuration for a while now and want to show your support, then do consider upgrading from a free to paid subscription. Thank you.
Giving birth has made me think deeply about death. The visceral, mind-altering act of bringing new life into the world feels intimately connected to the fact that I will die. I guess there’s nothing like four days of labour and an episiotomy to make you contemplate the precarious nature of human existence.
I am already about six years older than my mother was when she gave birth to me. And so I feel like I am crossing these thresholds where I am experiencing the same ages and milestones as her—the passage of human time suddenly feels very short. My days, like yours, and hers, are numbered.
Until I gave birth my mortality was not something I gave much thought to. During my twenties, I lived through survived a pandemic, but because of my age and ethnicity I don’t think I ever really considered that COVID would be the way I would die. It became clear relatively early on that the people who were dying were the elderly and middle-aged with pre-existing health conditions. Not people like me. Would I have felt in possession of such invincibility if I was black or disabled? I doubt it.
In a somewhat unlikely turn of events, I am currently working with two people who are living with terminal cancer. They are both in the unusual position of knowing that they are dying and feeling that there are things that they would like to do before the end of their life. The pair are remarkably thoughtful about the imminent prospect of their death. Needless to say, it is a privilege to be working alongside both of them at this point of their lives.
Earlier this week I read about the campaigner Kris Hallenga’s decision to have a living funeral—or a FUNeral, as she aptly put it. Kris is 37 and living with breast cancer. The theme was ‘You Only Die Once’, and guests were invited to wear an outfit that they loved but never got to wear in normal life. Dawn French did her Vicar of Dibley bit, and Kris was able to hear her friends and family give what I’m sure were incredibly moving speeches about what she meant to them. Kris’s coffin was also at the event, surrounded by felt tips and an invitation for people to doodle something onto it.
I have been struck by the choices a growing number of people like Kris are making concerning the final month(s) of their lives. Whilst a FUNeral might strike some of you as a bizarre thing to do, living funerals can help dying people communicate something urgent about their experience of death to the wider world.
Describing the day of her living funeral Kris wrote that:
I’ve never felt love like it. I’ve never felt joy like it. I’ve never felt such kinship with mortality. I’ve never felt so alive.
Living funerals? 10/10 would recommend.
Exploring your impermanence? A gateway to appreciation of life.
At new years eve (always a philosophical time of the year!) one of my friends explained that he thought about death almost every day, which blew my mind. I don’t think he meant this in a morose sense, but rather was trying to articulate that death was something he tried to keep in mind. Unlike most of us who happen to be in good health, death isn’t something he tries to ignore.
I understand why so many of us panic when we think about death, or perhaps the fact that our loved ones are going to die. It’s natural to worry about harm that affects those people we care most deeply for. But I have taken comfort in the advice of end-of-life practitioners like the palliative care specialist Dr. Kathryn Mannix, who explains that for the vast majority of people death is not painful or something to be afraid of. It is a natural process which will unfold on a particular day in a particular moment in time.
There are only two days with fewer than twenty-four hours in each lifetime, sitting like bookmarks astride our lives; one is celebrated every year, yet it is the other that makes us see living as precious.
Dr. Kathryn Mannix
The fact that we die is so often portrayed as a human failure. Something to be battled and fought against.
Could we instead choose to befriend our mortality, and express gratitude for the clarifying role that it plays in our life?
What would befriending your mortality look like for you?
I’d love to hear some of the things you’d like at your living FUNeral in the comments below.
READ MORE ABOUT DEATH:
With the End in Mind: Dying, Death and Wisdom in an Age of Denial by Dr. Kathryn Mannix
A palliative care practitioner debunks the taboo of death and argues in favour of having frank end-of-life conversations about our wishes with our loved ones.
Waiting for the Last Bus: Reflections on Life and Death by Richard Holloway
A ‘stirring plea to reacquaint ourselves with death’ from former-Priest and theologian Richard Holloway.
Glittering a Turd: How Surviving the Unsurvivable Taught me How to Live by Kris Hallenga
A joyful account of living with cancer, written by the founder of Coppafeel - a leading breast cancer charity.
Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner
The musician and lead singer of Japanese Breakfast writes about the experience of her mum dying from cancer whilst Michelle was in her twenties. A really stunning portrait of grief in all its guises.
Other essays from The Murmuration
spiral time: controlling chaos + recovery from depression
existing outside of capitalism: a brief list of humans being, not doing
the wild things: are everywhere (if you look for them)
Thanks for reading - if you found this interesting please consider sharing with a friend.
I think about my own or others' deaths every day. I plan funerals in my head. I've always done this, i.e. since I was a child. I think it helps me distill my feelings for people. Once I read on social media that a preoccupation with death can be associated with ADHD but never found any research to back that up so don't know why.
I was very drawn by the concept of FUNeral, which I fully embrace.
I love the idea of death, it's the reward for getting through life and dying. My idea of heaven is that I'd be switched off from my murkier thoughts and suspended in absolute nothingness. Hell, for me, would be the construct of Heaven that I was brought up with - I'm not great with crowds. The issue I really have is with dying, not so much the pain as the loss of independence, and dignity. The dying process is jolly hard work for most people.
One of my favourite tasks in a recent writing course was to write my own obituary. I didn't overthink it - I stepped outside myself and just allowed my thoughts to tumble onto paper and thoroughly enjoyed the experience.
I've had my share of practice runs of dying on several occasions to the point of feeling immensely peaceful at the prospect of death. I reached a state where anxiety and other difficult emotions were utterly absent. These experiences have led to a considerable amount of time spent putting processes in place documenting how I want my dying and death to look and those entrusted to make decisions on my behalf.
I've watched three family members dying and deaths and I've arranged their celebrations adding the FUN into their funerals. Fortunately, all three had been very specific with instructions, making arrangements easier. One request involved thinking creatively about holding a Viking-style ceremony while respecting British law.