By Lucy

It’s getting warm enough now that I don’t really need a fire at night. I still light a small one anyway, out of an abundance of caution. If it’s sunny and not windy, I can even leave aside the sweater, toque and second pair of pants!

I’ve decided against taking the dogs into my cabin, but I have sort of taken over their care, of my own prerogative. When I got here I was advised not to do anything with Earl, in case she ignored my commands, but she seems to love me. So most days, around lunch, I’ll take them out of the kennel if they are still there, and walk them around the 40 acre property. Neither of them will play fetch with either ball or stick, unfortunately. It is funny that Earl went from being ungovernable to following me like a shadow, unless Gary is around. In another little bit, I’d feel comfortable leaving her off the leash while I work outside.

I slept for ten hours after the tattoo, which is becoming a pattern. I’ve got two possible reasons; emotional fulfillment, or the result of the endorphins released by the pain and the deep, restful sleep of healing from having your skin cut open.

Since it’s Halloween, this post is going to be somewhat dark and morbid. I’d avoid reading the rest of it if you don’t want to read a deep discussion on death.

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Firstly, as I mentioned before, Halloween is the 5th anniversary of my friend Luke dying.

Luke died on November 1st, 2019, in the early hours of the morning. He was working late at a bar, and walked home after closing. At the time I was still working a midnight shift, and I felt guilty for a while because I was still awake and could have given him a ride home on that night. I’ve come to terms with it, partially I know he would have said no – it was the first snow of the season, and he wanted to experience it.

I used to joke “don’t walk home on Halloween night, someone always gets hit and killed and you don’t want it to be you!”

That joke is very bitter now.

He was hit crossing the road at an intersection around 2AM. The driver fled the scene without calling for help – Luke was discovered, still alive, about half an hour later by a dog walker. An ambulance was called, but it was too late. He died at the hospital.

He was 33, and he had 3 kids – two little girls, and a toddler son.

Because of my memory, I remember very distinctly how I found out. I woke sometime around 10:30 in the morning, texted my ex-husband good morning – we were still trying to “work things out” – and turned on my laptop. Facebook came up automatically. I noticed Luke’s ex posted something about him being hurt, at the top of my feed (they were also trying to work things out). My phone rang.

“Hey Lucy, have you checked Facebook yet?”

“Yeah, I just opened it. Looks like something’s up with Luke?”

“Yeah, he was hit by a car. They took him to the hospital – “

“Oh, how badly was he hurt? Does Jenna need us to drive anything over?” Neither Luke nor Jenna had a car at the time, so we often chauffeured them around.

“Lucy, he died. He didn’t make it.”

I don’t remember what happened next. I think I dropped the phone and started screaming.

My ex immediately jumped in the car and drove over. My landlord let him in because obviously something was wrong.

No one I loved had died before. Sure, people I knew had died, people I cared about distantly, but not like this. This was my first real taste of death, ironically right before the global pandemic, when death became a byline.

I called off work. They gave me a few days off, actually, which was nice of them because they weren’t legally obligated to. It was probably partially for their own sanity – for the first week, I cried constantly. For a few weeks after that, I burst into tears whenever I was asked any variation of “how are you/ how was your day”. I had no processes for the grief I felt. Sure, maybe my day was objectively good, but Luke was gone, so why did it matter? It eclipsed everything.

It was interesting to observe the butterfly effect it had. It was a medium catalyst for me finally cutting ties with my ex-husband for good.

I met Winter there. She barely knew Luke, but she had been left by her ex recently and someone dragged her to the funeral to get her out of the house (logically).

It also brought me and James together, my other ex. He had recently experienced a personal tragedy as well, and Brandon dragged both of us to an event so we weren’t moping alone. We bonded over our respective bad moods and the rest is history.

Part of the exercise in keeping Luke’s memory alive is remembering that he wasn’t perfect. Oh, he was a good guy, for sure. He was so instantly likeable he was amicable with his daughters’ mother, and he used to hang out with their step-dad. He would just light up every room. When me and my ex got in really bad fights, he’d let me sleep over at his place, as he lived within walking distance, and he’d sit up for hours and listen to me pour my heart out without judgment.

He was a big nerd for anything Japanese. Part of our first conversation that both of us knew what a tanuki was, and a proper tanuki, not the tanuki suit from Mario. He was an expert in translating ancient Japanese, world renowned for it, and something of a martial arts expert as well. People would fly to Toronto to be taught by him.

But… he had problems. He was an alcoholic, a real alcoholic. Before he died, more often then not if he had the girls for the weekend, I’d have to drop off food at his place so he could feed them, cuz he drank all his money. Other than that, he was an A+ dad.

He was also a cheater. It’s a really awful position to be in, when your friend is upset that they got dumped and also you know it was entirely their fault. My heart always sank whenever he’d start posting about a new girlfriend, because I was just mentally counting down the days ’til he ruined it.

It took a week for the cops to find his killer. Mostly because they took a week to post the traffic video of the truck that did it, in the vain hope the guy might turn himself in, or get turned in by the body shop he took his truck to. Within 6 hours of the cops releasing the video, we found the truck (not me personally). It still had the damage to the front end from hitting him.

That’s the meaning of the tattoo on my left arm – it’s Luke’s name and the date he died.

The pandemic didn’t make it better, of course. The trial was set for March – y’know, when the pandemic shut everything down. And there was no Halloween the next year, so there was nothing to keep my mind off it.

Halloween used to be my favourite holiday. Well, it still is, but I haven’t been able to really celebrate it. Pandemic, then other things. Like this year, Kiwi’s don’t really do Halloween, so there just wont be one for me.

The Guardian published an interesting article about death recently. I thought it was thought-provoking – it is true, for people in first world countries death is something you don’t have to face until you’ve lived a long life, but that is a recent luxury.

One thing the article points out, that most people miss, is the idea that most people didn’t live past 40. That’s not true; quite a few people lived past 40. The problem is the law of averages. Depending on the time and place, it was common for a third or more of children to just not reach adulthood. Which brings the average down, even though those who lived past childhood lived long lives.

Well, let’s unpack the questions, cuz why not. My life is a little boring and it’s the season for memento mori.

1. Death memories. What is your earliest experience of death? How old were you? How did you feel? Was it a pet? A person? How was it talked about by your family? What was your grieving like? How about that of your family?

Beyond the story above, my first memories of death were not great. I’m unaware of the order, but I know one of the first deaths I had to deal with was the death of our pet bunny, Bob. I don’t really remember that, but I do know my mother lied rather clumsily about it, and I noted that at the time. She had him put down and lied that he had suddenly taken ill. It was kinda strange, because I don’t remember being sad or really missing him, and she liked to pride herself on being “honest” with us.

The other death after that was still a mystery. My parents brought us to the funeral of the father of a friend of my mother’s. I couldn’t tell you who this friend is – I couldn’t even tell you if I ever met her before or after, but I can say she was not a common visitor to our house. Not knowing who it was, I asked aloud if I could see the body, because I had never been to a funeral or seen a dead body before, and I was curious. It was one of the few times my father slapped me across the face. I was then told off for crying in pain, and told to apologize to the woman I was pretty sure I had never met.

Other than that, I can say confidently that death was not talked about in my family. Oh, sure, the logistics were – make sure your will is up to date and all that jazz – but nothing about the emotional side. Once someone was dead, they might as well have never existed, and they were not talked about anymore. The end.

As an anecdote, I actually saw someone jump off the Eiffel tower when I was a kid. I’m not sure when we went to Paris, but I was younger than ten. It’s part of the reason I chuckle whenever someone dies falling from a high place in a movie. They’re artfully posed; an arm or a leg twisted the wrong way, maybe a pool of blood. Not so in reality. In reality, you are chunky blobs of flesh, undiscernible as a person (at least from Eiffel tower height).

2. Death in your family. Was death talked about in your family? Were you invited to attend funerals? What were you told when a pet or loved one died? What did you think about what you were told?

See above, I suppose.

I don’t know, no one in my family died until after I moved out, to be honest. My biological grandmother died when I was 14 or something, but none of us liked her and the general attitude was that she would not be missed. Some family members I had met once or twice died in Germany, but that was too far away to attend a funeral and it was mentioned in passing.

3. Associations with death. What are your associations with the idea of death? Without thinking, write down every word that comes to your mind. They might include:  fear,  decay,  end,  sadness,  grief,  rebirth,  corpse, horror films, release, surrender … Added bonus: divide these words into two columns, one for positive associations, one for negative associations. Is there an imbalance between the two?

Oh Christ, this could be an blog post in and of itself.

I mean, the first thing that comes to mind is my eventually fatal condition. I was 11 when I found out I’d have “the cancer”, and my parents immediately started using it as an emotional cudgel to beat me into submission. It’s one thing to use age-appropriate language to prepare a child for a fatal prognosis, it’s another thing to start treating the child like a walking corpse when it probably won’t kill them for another 50 years. And it really was that absurd – me frivolously buying candy was talked down upon in terms of “I should be saving up to pay for my end-of-life care”.

I wouldn’t say that death has negative associations for me, but maybe that’s for a psychologist to say. I will say most of the deaths that I had a connection to, it was mostly a sense of “thank God they aren’t suffering anymore”. I have a stake in the “right to die” fight in a big way. I’ve watched a lot of people linger, in pain, disabled, where life is basically just measuring a heartbeat and nothing more.

Even emotionally. Oma died rather abruptly last year. She had a tooth infection that suddenly accelerated overnight – she was hospitalized, but maybe she had a DNR or something. She had a stroke or heart attack secondary to the infection and she was gone, just like that, but she wasn’t really sick before. And yet, everyone was sort of waiting for her to die anyway. She wouldn’t leave the house, she didn’t call, she didn’t really have people over…

4. A good death. In the 19th century, a good death was considered one at home, surrounded by family. What is your idea of a good death? Do you hope to die painlessly in your sleep? Would you like to die in a special place? Alone or with someone (or many) you love? Write, in detail, about what an ideal death would look like to you.

This question got me and was the one that made me go “let’s talk about this”. Cuz I talk about what I don’t want for my death a lot, but I’ve never really thought about the death I would want.

I sort of laughed at people being specific about wanting a death. I remember when James’ nonna got sick, she was very specific that she die at home, surrounded by her grandchildren. None of them wanted that and she didn’t get it anyway. She took 2 years to decline and everyone had sort of gotten off speed dial at that point. Ironically, she got the death most of us want – she passed away in her sleep, in the middle of the night.

Maybe process of elimination.

I will say I don’t want to die “at home”, because that is anaethema to the way I live. If I could die the way I wanted, I’d like time to put my affairs in order. I would sell or give away most of my possessions, and sell my house. I wouldn’t want to leave loose ends for my loved ones to have to tie up, or a house haunted by a “ghost”. Plus, if I’m in care, then there’s no arguing or angsting about who will take care of me.

In my sleep wouldn’t be awful, but I suppose it is kind of scary. I do prefer the idea of medical assistance in dying – pressing the button, knowing what’s going to happen. Being able to say goodbye to everyone first, with no surprises.

If I could choose who would be there, the Vagabond would top the list. With the age-gap between us, it’s unlikely, but not impossible – the cancer could theoretically come back at any time.

Rich would be second. Partially because he’s a stoic like me, but also because I know he’d be telling jokes and trying to make me smile. It would be like when Bill Murray died in Zombieland and Emma Stone’s character laughed at his death rattle. Maybe that’s weird and morbid, but I’d rather Rich cracking jokes than everyone standing around crying.

I’d want food. Presuming, of course, that I die of my cancer, my last months will be struggling to eat. But there are things they can do, like a stent, to allow you to eat when death is imminent. So I’d love for people to visit me in hospice for a last meal, whatever it is you want to bring. Hopefully something I’ve never tried before. I love trying food, especially food with a story.

That sounds good.

5. Thought experiment: death is not the end. The death of the body also meaning the end of our existence is, historically speaking, very new, and it runs counter to the beliefs of people for nearly all of human history in all parts of the world. One fun thought experiment I have enjoyed: what are the odds that all of human history is wrong, and our particular historical moment has it right? Further, what have been the fruits of the past 150 years that we have lived with these beliefs? Has it made a better, kinder society? If it were as simple as choosing, what would you believe? Write down your thoughts.

Hah, this is so pertinent now that I have Amor Fati tattooed on my person. Call me a cynic, but I do think the idea that this life is all we get makes far too many people selfish. That people will claw and fight for every scrap without a thought to the quality, or to what they are doing to other people.

By the same token, I don’t think the idea of heaven and hell has ever motivated people to be good, who wouldn’t otherwise have been good, because those people think of the consequences, whether in this life or the next.

Personally, I like the Queens of the Stone Age lyric: “I want something good to die for/ To make it beautiful to live”.

6. Myths and death. Were you brought up with a mythic or religious understanding of death? What did these stories tell you about your life, your relationship to the natural world, and punishment? What did they tell you about death and what happens after? How did they impact the way your life unfolded? What are your thoughts about it now?

Probably doesn’t need to be said, but my parents are entirely rational, scientific people who don’t believe in a soul, or life after death. In theory. My father was brought up Christian and I think he still holds some of those beliefs, privately.

That being said, my mother loves reading and there was lots of discussions about myths, legend etc, just not with regards to any of them potentially being true.

I came to my beliefs on my own. Suffice to say, I don’t really believe life ends at death. That being said, I try to live my life as if this is all we get, just in case. There is no scientific, empirical evidence of an afterlife. But I think… there’s been a lot of odd coincidences in my life, and also a rational life can be sort of cold and empty of magic. I don’t think I’d ever give up hoping for an afterlife, just for a bit of spice.

7. How I feel about death. Complete these sentences;
The worst thing I can imagine about death is; being forced to live until my cancer kills me naturally, in terrible pain.
The best thing I can imagine about death is; finally knowing for sure what happens after.
The thing that most frightens me about death is; not being able to talk to the people I love anymore.
The thing that most frightens me about being dead is; that no one would notice I was gone.

8. Your own death. Write a short story about your own death, in as much detail as possible. What was dying like? Who, if anyone, was with you? How did it feel? Was there any sort of post-death existence? What was it like?

This doesn’t interest me, cuz it seems like a repeat of number 4. I thought I’d add… cuz I don’t really talk about it… I am suicidal. Not imminently so, but I have been since I was 10. When I was undergoing treatment it got really bad. I was in a dark place, for reasons other than the cancer. When I started to recover from my cancer, it just made me feel worse, because I had been so prepared and ready to die. I stopped treatment a few times hoping it would kill me.

I did attempt suicide a few times. I didn’t talk to the doctors about it, because I was sure they would just lock me up and medicate me. Sadly, of course, I’ve since learned that doctors can’t even be bothered to do that anymore, for other people that is.

The closest I ever got to succeeding, I had a vision of the afterlife. I distinctly remember there being a man on the other side, and he said something along the lines of “welcome home, we’ve been waiting for you”. I remember feeling peaceful and happy.

There’s a lot to say about that, obviously. Could just be hallucinations invented by a dying brain, etc etc.

That was 6 years ago and I haven’t tried since. I think it’s made me feel a little more peaceful, though, having this feeling of “when I go, someone is waiting to welcome me”. If that makes sense.