Wine under 20, life over 50

One of the things about life over 50 is that inevitably, people you love begin dying.

Death was a stranger growing up – apart from a few distant and ancient relatives whom I never really knew. At 10, it was the loss of a Newfoundland puppy named Winston that broke my heart. Later, an old school friend fell victim to a brain tumour at 31, robbed of a long life and beautiful family. My mother died a few years ago, after the torment of dementia, and now my mother-in-law has gone.

It was sudden. It was shocking. The family is utterly devastated. She was a young 80, and we had all imagined many more years with her.

Looking through old photographs of her, from age 7 to 80 I’m struck by an effervescent joy, a joie de vivre, an energy so relentless it’s impossible to imagine her gone.

And yet she has.

When I worked at Mount Mary, all those years ago, my future parents-in-law came to visit. After they’d left the winery, Dr John said to me, ‘it’s a good idea to look at the mother, you’re doing alright’.

And like her energy, her beauty never faded. She was the human equivalent of Champagne.

Death is inevitable, yet we are so unprepared for it. Heaven is an insurance policy, one you never know pays out. Yet Hell has always been more clearly defined. In a secular society how should we talk about death?

My father, at a low point, quoted this piece from Cymbeline by Shakespeare:

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun; 
Nor the furious winter’s rages, 
Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages; 
Golden lads and girls all must, 
As chimney sweepers come to dust. 

Fear no more the frown of the great, 
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke: 
Care no more to clothe and eat; 
To thee the reed is as the oak: 
The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
All follow this, and come to dust. 

Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
Nor the all-dread thunder-stone; 
Fear not slander, censure rash; 
Thou hast finished joy and moan; 
All lovers young, all lovers must 
Consign to thee, and come to dust. 

No exorciser harm thee! 
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee! 
Nothing ill come near thee! 
Quiet consummation have; 
And renowned be thy grave!

The Lion King did a pretty good job of it with the ‘Circle of Life song’:

It’s the circle of life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
‘Til we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the circle
The circle of life

I’ve seen plenty of personality traits travel through the generations to know that there is an element of immortality. And the fact is, you can’t have life without death.

Judy, for that is my mother-in-law’s name, loved dogs and dogs loved her. In fact, being one of her dogs would be heaven on earth. So, I think she’d appreciated this poem about a dog saying farewell.

So, I’ll be going now.

It’s been a blast, I’ll have you know,

Did I thank you for the walks?

The baths I never liked though

The lead is yours, my collar too,

I’m leaving all the fleas

I’ve packed my favourite ball and stick

I always tried to please

Mistakes I made you oft forgave

Number more than many

I drop my head, I hide my tail

I had to spend a penny

But I never really got the rules

Sit, fetch, heal, not the shoes!

Where to go for number ones

And not for number twos

Next time you walk in through the door

You’ll hear my tail thump on the floor

A walk? Why yes, I’d love one.

I have a playlist in mind for my final farewell and I like the idea of having my ashes sprinkled on a vineyard somewhere in Champagne, Bordeaux, or at Mount Mary. It would be nice to come back as part of a great vintage. But hopefully not for some time.