On Death

My Nan died recently so for obvious reasons I’ve been thinking about Death a fair bit. Death in the family has never been something that has emotionally bothered me a great deal, probably due to me having a small family, my Mum dying at a young age and being brought up to celebrate life, not spen time mourning things that cannot be changed. The things that do bother me about death is the vulture like swooping of various parties after the event and the sudden deconstruction of someone’s life. I feel very awkward discussing estates, possessions, value and legalities, to me it feels disrespectful. One of my earliest memories of this is after the funeral of my Mum’s Dad when all the family descended on his house to divvy up the possessions with gleams in their eyes. I know all these things have to be discussed and sorted out, but everyone seems to so keen to bring the issue up whilst assuring you they’re very sorry about what happened, much like in the antiques roadshow when you know all everyone is waiting to find out from the experts is an items ‘insurance value’.

Perhaps the thing that concerns me most about death is more of a personal, selfish thing, which after all (taking a slight diversion) is what grief really is anyway, you feel sorry for yourself, not for the person who has died. I have always been concerned about my legacy, about being important, famous, leaving a mark on the world, something to be remembered by, about making a difference in my life. The most harrowing thing that has haunted me over the past few days is how by going through a deceased family member’s house and reducing most o ftheir life into black bags. 87 years of life and really you have no choice but to take apart their life in a brief amount of time and give it away or sell it, unless you really have the luxury of filling your home with the contents of another. It freaks me out to think that the same might happen to my life in the future, all that effort, time and hard work taken apart in an instant.