Having recently been confronted with the death of one of my teenage heroes (Rik Mayall) from a significant cardiac event and today's sad news regarding the apparent suicide of Robin Williams, I have found myself thinking about my own mortality - again. I suspect I view death a little differently from a lot of people. It's hard not to have unusual perspectives about this subject when you've slapped Death round the face more times than you care to remember, but I have to say I am not actually afraid of slipping off my mortal coil. In fact, I rather embrace the prospect as a natural part of life - albeit the end bit.
But there it is - a euphemism for dying. We speak of people passing on, passing over, falling asleep, buying a one-way ticket, gaining their angel wings, cashing in chips, being called to (insert deity) and awakening to eternal life - I could go on. People don't like using the D-word; it seems so final. But is it? I once read that you've not truly 'gone' until the last man alive, who remembers you, is also gone. That may be fairly comforting for Richard the Lionheart and Saladin, because I'm still thinking about them 800 years later after they pushed up the daisies. However, for the rest of us that don't make it into the history books, what are our prospects for eternity through remembrance?
I think social media, such as FB, Twitter and instruments like this blog are going to give the average person a small chance of immortality - until the internet falls over because of all the idiotic junk. It does make me smile a little at the thought of some poor, unsuspecting individual being sucked into my particular style of waffle, two hundred years after I kick the bucket - ooh look, there's another one; you really are getting your money's worth today!
But what about actual immortality? Well, if it exists, I'm definitely coming back to scare the heebie-jeebies out of a few individuals who probably should remain unnamed and I may swing by your pad to say hello if I like you well enough, but I am pretty certain that most of you won't want a fading version of me loitering in the corner, whilst you're trying to eat your dinner. What if I bring someone else with me? I sense most of my friends are suddenly considering moving, without forwarding their address. As for a god and immortality, I'm sorry, but you are going to have to answer that one for yourselves. In the meantime, you'll just have to settle for me being a decent person who tries to do the right thing.
With that question put to the side for a blog of its own at some point, I'd now like to ask the uncomfortable question of why do people fear death, when it is something that everyone and everything will experience? When my time comes, I fully intend on seeing my way through as much of it as I possibly can, before the lights are switched out. I hope that there will be someone with me, whom care about and that it is not just a member of my medical team. I'm pretty certain that my days will be ended in a hospital, probably Harefield Hospital - my second home. Yes, really, Harefield does feel like that. I once described myself as a homing pigeon when I was speaking to the psychologist last year; he commented that I wasn't the only one who felt like that. It almost feels normal to be sat in that hospital bed, with an oxygen mask over my face; I've been there so many times in my life, that such events are a minor inconvenience that stop me being Eve for a few weeks at a time.
Actually, probably THE fear that I have surrounding my own death is the fact that I know I am chronically ill and I have a cat that depends on me for everything. I absolutely know that I have friends who would take Harvey and look after him, but that doesn't stop me having completely irrational thoughts of me dying at home and being undetected for two weeks. Forget me, what about my poor little meezer? No, it doesn't bother me that I'd end up as cat food - I only hope the medication doesn't make him ill. But this is, as I said, completely irrational. I may be chronically ill, but I am not actually sick!
Probably my second biggest fear is actually being sick again. I don't mean the sort of sick where I am griping on FB about yet another cold, or a sprained ankle, but the proper sick - the sort of sick that most people only experience in the later stages of life. Oddly, I don't fear heart disease - we two are comfortable with each other. I wouldn't quite go so far as to say that we are old friends, but I've been in heart failure before and I've arrested before. It has happened. It may well happen again, but I am confident. I fear cancer. I have friends and family who have defeated this disease, but I have also lost friends and family to it. I fear cancer because I can't have chemo. I fear cancer because I have had a fortnight's course of Radiotherapy at 1/8th of the dose of a cancer patient and it was nasty. I fear cancer because my chances of survival are microscopic. So, I know what I will do if I am ever diagnosed with it - no, I don't mean the small growth on my forehead that will be plucked out in a couple of months. I mean a proper dose of this vile disease.
The same can be said for any other terminal issue, or anything that takes away my ability to think for myself - such as Alzheimer's. I fear not being able to look after myself, or forgetting to take my medication. I will end it my way, before the disease makes my life unbearable, or robs me of my ability to think. I will do as Robin Williams did yesterday when it all became too much for him. If I can afford to, I will take myself to Dignitas in Switzerland. If I can't do that, I know I have enough medication in this house to make the dinosaurs extinct again, so it should be just enough for me too. I actually think suicide can be the action of a brave person. If it is successful, it is irreversible; there are no second chances. To know your actions mean that you are never going to walk down the road, holding hands with your loved ones, takes bravery and a type of strength, that people may assume is missing in those with mental health issues. They are wrong. Suicide in a desperate situation is strength and I wish that people would not see it as a weakness.
If I am capable of doing so, when my number's are coming up, I've every intention of holding my own wake. I want to be able to say goodbye to my loved ones. You're going to have to be someone very special to be invited to that party. And yes, it is a party. It is a celebration. Funerals, memorials, wakes are something to be celebrated. I do mourn the people who have departed, but I also celebrate their lives. I think of their achievements, the loved one's left behind, I smile at their naughty streaks and remember their kindness. I may shed a tear remembering a friend's passing, but I also have a smile and a chuckle for each of them . They are not gone, they are imbedded in my heart.
So, why should I not get to celebrate my own life, rather than leaving it to people who will be struggling, because they are sad? Why do they get to have the party, when I don't? I already think there is a lot to celebrate. I turn 40 next year. How on earth did I get to 40? I don't mean that in the usual sense of 'where's the time gone?', I mean how did I make it to 40 years with my health problems? I think about all the things I have done in my time. I know I've had to slow down a lot over the years, but I've still crammed more into this time than a lot of people would manage in two life times. I want to join in with that celebration. I want to pick the music, watch my friends dance, listen to their memories and then maybe I can go, knowing I am loved and cherished. Now, I don't want you all to start wondering if something is wrong and if you get invited to a 40th next year, I don't want you to start thinking that that may be the farewell party. This is just my point of view.
In the meantime, stop worrying about death, or fearing it. We all go through the process. For the religious amongst you, you know you will be reunited with your loved ones. For those that don't believe you know that through the law of energy conservation your energy is ever present. Energy is verifiable and constant; it doesn't diminish, or increase. It's just that after death you are no longer in one piece. In either case, what is there to lose?
As an end note, when I die, I either want to end up at Harefield, so they can poke about inside, or I'd like to do a Jeremy Bentham (you'll have to ask Dr Google about that ;p). But above all, I want to be remembered for doing it my way.
