Reflections on Death

Fifteen months ago I lost my dad.  Four weeks ago my mum followed; hence the recent blog silence.  I was beside both of them for minutes, hours, days, weeks; holding their hands before, during, and after.  It is where I wanted to be, despite the fact it digs a hole right through you.  As you can imagine, I have spent much time reflecting on death recently.  The mind can be a muddled place as a result but I wanted to honestly and openly share some of these thoughts in the hope that others will find them interesting.

As vegans we have a respect for all life but what about death?  My first honest thought to share is that by the time death came to my parents, I welcomed it for them; willed it even. For the last four days of mum's life she was taking twelve laboured breaths followed by thirty seconds of not breathing, before gasping back into the cycle; that's four days non stop until the last thirty minutes or so when she thankfully calmed more.  My dad was less laboured but had more pain but ultimately for both it just seemed like such hard work for them.  When the time came I was flooded with numbness and huge relief.  I welcomed death, as I am fairly sure they did.  But a vegan welcoming death to another living being?  Under the circumstances I imagine most would agree this is totally natural but as a vegan, I also found it conflicting in my muddled mind.

My second honest admission is that such was the suffering, and for both thankfully they were blessed with less so than many, I did have thoughts of how I could 'help'.  This thought was both natural and shocking to me at the same time.  Mum even said about five days before she died "please help me".  I asked her in response, "have you had enough mum?" and she said "yes".  It tore me apart.  You can see why people do 'help'; that love drives people to do it.  That whole saying 'cruel to be kind' seems to have some substance here.  Ultimately though I couldn't have done it.  Some of it comes down to cowardice; whichever way that coin is flipped, but also I know really my dad and mum would have hated me facing consequences.  So instead I resorted to being there, monitoring, feeding back to the caring and loving staff my translation of pain and discomfort levels so medication could be tailored.  It had been a startling thought though; a vegan with fleeting thoughts of basically murder?

This is when I then got to thinking about our animal companions.  As hard as it is, us humans are given that 'power' to decide when our non human family members can no longer endure suffering and end it for them; peacefully, quickly, gently.  How easy the world perceives we can make that decision for animals and yet not for our human loved ones.  Does that make life cheaper for animals or humans?  If you love that living being, that dying being, you should be trusted to help both.  My parents both signed 'Do Not Resuscitate' orders a few years ago.  Maybe there should be a witnessed order available for 'please euthanise' too?  I'm potentially on very dodgy ground here but as a non speciesist being I am perplexed as to why the euthanasia debate still rumbles on for humans.

Another reflection for me centred around medication.  The pharma industry is the epitome of the devil to me on the most part but here I was discussing, requesting and willingly accepting the increased medical needs of my parents.  It was surreal how desperate and reliant I was, even thankful that an extra dose could offer some reprieve from any suffering as things progressed.  I spent some time talking to a lovely lady whose dad was in the room opposite my mum.  Her dad too was struggling.  Our despair was reflected in each others faces as we talked in one of our many 'take five' moments in the sitting room of the hospice.  She surmised that she would rather go into the middle of nowhere and take a load of hallucinogens if she were in the same position as our parents.  I had to agree.  This was by no means a reflection on the loving, caring and beyond amazing staff at the hospice.  It was more a reaction to the chemical cocktail constantly administered to enable the long drawn out process to be more comfortable.  As a vegan I think it comes down to choice.  For my mum and dad I facilitated what they chose.  When my time comes, and if I can make a choice, well I will.

I have already mentioned the nursing/hospice teams involved in my parents care.  How these amazing people can, in the face of what they experience day in, day out, maintain such unconditional and compassionate love and care is just mind blowing.  It brings tears to Phil's and my eyes just thinking about it.  Nothing was too much trouble.  Humans certainly know how to look after their own (although I truly recognise that this isn't necessarily the case the world over and horrible atrocities do indeed occur).  Dying humans are on the whole lavished with care; even in death and the ensuing ceremonies, service or rituals.  The death of some animals are indeed ritualised (cruelly so) but generally animals are led unceremoniously to their deaths and then ceremoniously served up on a plate.  This was just another random thought that a very muddled vegan had at the time.  

Here is another thought surrounding humans.  Many vegans associate kindness purely with other vegans.  Well I must say I have met some pretty uncaring vegans at times.  I have also met an awful lot of non-vegans who have shown me unconditional love; particularly so in the last two years.  To draw a distinction here is just insane and short sighted.  Kindness is kindness; whatever form or level it takes.  It shouldn't be dismissed purely because it doesn't go far enough.  

I could go on describing other thoughts and emotions during this dark time including anger, flatness, frustration and multiple stages of exhaustion and confusion but I imagine these are more natural reactions experienced by many.  Indeed I am kind of hoping that all of the things I have shared would be recognised by at least some others too.  Possibly they are a lot more natural than I thought?

Life does go on though and as I have now returned to Cornwall after my mum's funeral and sorting out some of my parents house, this outpouring I guess is also only natural.  I hope now to be able to move on to reflect on the wonderfully unusual, caring, funny and treasured moments of life with my parents instead.  They were both extraordinary in their own unique ways.

So to finish on a lighter note, here are two poems I wrote for my dad and mum, and which formed part of their commemorative services.

Robin Gill (The Robin) - 1936 - 2017

Yvonne Gill (The Chough) - 1942 - 2018

The Robin

Mum and Dad Summer 2015

I saw a robin perched on a tree

His tune was full and strong

I love the song he sung for me

Although the words were wrong

I saw a robin sat on my spade

He watched me as I planted

“You plan, you sow, you water” he said

“But you should never take life for granted”

I saw a robin upon the fence

As I walked along the way

Each time I passed he followed me

To ensure I was okay

I cannot see my bird no more

But in my heart he sings

And every bird I see now

Is my Robin on the wing

Upon the tree, upon the fence

And on the spade as well

My Dad will ever guide me
And in my life will dwell.

The Chough

The chough arrived when the sea below was turbulent and stormy.

The wind was strong to fly against with her battered wings still forming.

The cliffs seemed high but on she flew towards the solid ground.

Despite the violent heave of wave reaching up to pull her down.

She reached the shore, the sun came out and shone upon her black feathers.

She preened them now with golden beak to remove the salt strewn weather.

The gold of legs now stood her strong as she surveyed the world around her.

It was time to leave the past behind and search for her own future.

She launched herself high in the sky with a joyous burst of shrieks.

Twisting, turning, tumbling with acrobatic feats.

Her bold display soon caught the eye of a handsome little robin.

Whose breast of red and cheeky song the lucky chough was soon winning.

Their nest was built on solid rock and in it soon two youngsters.

And as the years went on this little family had much adventures.

Like her, the little chough had taught her girls to live and dare.

So they fledged the nest and went in search of lands full of choughs and bears.

Not long ago the robin flew towards the setting sun.

Distraught, the little chough took flight to follow his voyage on.

I see them now in bluest sky and above the azure sea.

Or amongst the bluebell woods upon their planted trees.

Whenever I saw a robin my mum I always told.

And a phone call made immediately upon spotting black and gold.

Whether Barranco bound, in Bretagne or on my Cornish bluffs.
I’ll still always call you mum to tell you of our choughs.