I’ve finally changed my attitude to dying – Deborah James has made me realise I have to face it head on
THIS may not be the cheeriest thing you want to read – but we need to talk about death.
One person who faced it head on, and very publicly, was of course the extraordinary Deborah “Bowel-babe” James.
She shoved it in our faces, and forced us to go on her journey with her and learn that, despite her being so very much alive, she had to deal with death whether she liked it or not.
Death was her reality and it became ours.
Now, the 90-year-old broadcasting great Dame Joan Bakewell, who has colon cancer, has told how she feels “serene” about the prospect of dying.
I guess that if you’re entering your tenth decade and many of your friends have died, you do come to accept that it’s going to be your turn sooner rather than later.
But her words are very poignant, because death is not just something that we avoid talking about at all costs, it’s also a subject that we’re notoriously bad at dealing with.
We are all going to die, folks. That much is one of life’s certainties.
Yet it seems we’re more comfortable talking about almost anything but death.
We skirt around it. We often can’t even bear to utter the word.
We might hint at it but our preferred way is to resort to euphemism.
So people pop their clogs, push up the daisies, go to a better place, shuffle off this mortal coil, give up the ghost, kick the bucket, take a dirt nap or bite the dust.
Understandably, we turn to these expressions because they help us to create emotional distance from the subject in hand.
The D-word inevitably brings up feelings of anxiety, fear, sadness and, most significantly, awkwardness.
We seem to struggle to find words when faced with the news of some-one’s death.
That’s how I used to be, too.
I now try to face the subject head on, because I know we’re so desperately poor at dealing with grief that we’d rather cross the road to avoid someone in mourning than strike up an empathetic conversation and offer personal comfort.
Only this week, my friend The Rev Kate Bottley, of Gogglebox fame, whose beloved mum died in January, lamented that people keep telling her to “stop being sad because your mum is in heaven”.
This infuriates her because that’s not at all where she wants her mum to be — she wants her by her side.
She’s also asked that people should please say her mum has died, because she didn’t just lose her down the back of the sofa.
The thing is, people do mean well by what they say but often lack understanding.
Maybe it’s because of the finality of death that we try to steer well clear of the subject.
As humans we are problem solvers, we like to find solutions, we like to make good and repair.
But there’s no solution or alternative to dying, so we ignore it.
The death of a loved one can, of course, be horrific.
My dad died suddenly and unexpectedly of a brain haemorrhage when he was only 53.
I went into shock and, while I think I never got over it — an expectation society has of those of us left behind — I have learnt to live with it 28 years later.
Some years after my dad’s death I cradled my maternal grandmother as she took her last breaths — and that certainly helped me to process her death.
The fact is, there is no right nor wrong way to face death or to mourn, and yet we insist on having these preconceived ideas about how we should react and respond.
We think we know how long people should be allowed to grieve for — not long enough looks callous and heartless, too long and you’re definitely milking it.
Licence to grieve
Following my dad’s funeral — a month after his death — the world expected me to revert to my normal self, and yet it was only then that I really started to mourn.
I had felt like I had to keep it all together — stiff upper lip and all that — because my licence to grieve was time limited and the world would grow weary.
What would have really helped me at that time was if people had continued to talk to me about my dad and his death, so making it OK for me not to be OK.
Preparing for death is hard, too. We don’t want to face it and hope it will go away, by some miracle.
Without doubt, some deaths are impossible to recover from — the death of a child or the unexpected death of someone who is a victim of accident or violent crime.
I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, or that any of us are ever going to feel ready, but we must start talking about death.
Preferably before we all kick the oxygen habit.
This will, I believe, ultimately go some way to helping all of us deal with it better.
Spare me the royal flanfare
AS a keen cook, I was really looking forward to a great recipe to celebrate the King’s Coronation.
I’m still a huge fan of Coronation Chicken, which was created by chef Rosemary Hume in 1953 to mark the Queen’s succession to the throne the previous year.
It’s spicy, sweet, chunky, creamy and zingy. Lovely.
So, 70 years later, what do we get? Quiche.
A quiche containing spinach, broad beans and tarragon.
But broad beans are not in season yet and, although I do love tarragon, it’s not a widely loved herb.
There’s also an egg shortage, thanks to avian flu, with prices having rocketed by 30 per cent over the past year.
So I’m questioning this recipe because of the ingredients required – but also the dull prospect of a spinachy situation whose only redeeming feature is pastry.
Which I always struggle to make. I’m underwhelmed and just so full of disappointment.
Especially because we’re crowning a king, and I do like to stick to that stereotypical masculinity trope that “real men don’t eat quiche”.
I’m Fonda the new Bridget
ACTRESS Bridget Fonda has been spotted recently looking dramatically different to the beautiful, elfin actress we knew and loved from films such as Jackie Brown and Single White Female some 30 years ago.
She’s unrecognisable and some might wonder what happened. What went wrong?
The Bridget Fonda of today is make-up free, fuller of figure and bespectacled, now blending into the crowd just like any old Janet.
Asked by reporters whether she had any intention of returning to Hollywood, she smiled knowingly and said she doesn’t think so because “it’s much nicer being a civilian”.
In other words, this is a woman who is considerably happier out of the spotlight.
I applaud her for having the courage of her convictions, to turn her back on all the glitz and glamour and instead to seek out contentment as a normal person.
I dream, from time to time, of going back to a time when I wasn’t well known, but it’s been my life for the past 35 years.
Besides, I have children to feed and vet bills to pay, and however much I might like to be unknown I’ll always be known as that bird off the telly what used to do the weather.
The irony is, of course, that many people can only dream of stardom, while some Hollywood stars wish they could turn back the hands of time and live a simpler life – incognito, anonymous.
Few actually do this, of course, because ultimately we all know money talks and the glow of the spotlight can be addictive.
So, let us not wonder what went wrong for Bridget Fonda but rather how well it has worked out for her.
A round of applause for this principled, confident woman for understanding what is best for her and relishing an ordinary life on Civvy Street.
Besides, we all know normal is underrated.
Tag on bag is mumbo-jumbo
ANNA MATHUR is a parenting expert, apparently, and has started a movement she hopes will help mums who are finding being a mother a bit tough.
She’s encouraging them to reach out to others by tying a ribbon to their handbag to signal that they could do with a helping hand – maybe some baby wipes, words of comfort or even a hug.
This came about because Anna one day felt she had nothing left in her tank and was really struggling to cope.
She had dropped off one of her kids at nursery and had to walk into a cafe alone, feeling isolated and a failure.
There’s no doubt, it can be tough being a parent.
But, firstly, I doubt there is anything like an expert in the matter. It’s like a walk in a Jurassic park, and if anyone had all the answers they would be a billionaire and none of us would have a care in the world.
Secondly, this ribbon thing is just bizarre. You don’t need to tie one to your bag to indicate you’re struggling.
The one thing I do know about parenting is that, as a general rule, mums do support each other.
It’s how we make friends, because we are all aboard what feels like a sinking ship and our empathy increases.
The ribbon idea feels a bit middle/upper-middle class, and will doubtless become huge for a very niche group of people.
But not for the considerably less well-off, who haven’t two pennies to rub together.
They won’t be going to a café after dropping the kids at nursery and are probably firefighting to keep their heads above water, while in rubbish accommodation.
What about those mums, maybe with three kids under five, for whom life is rock-bottom and who seriously need support?
No, I’m sorry, this is all just a tad pretentious for my liking.
Instead, it might be worth reverting to what worked in the past, when people actually spoke to each other, and reached out, rather than try to work out what a ribbon on someone’s handbag might signify.