I probably talk or think about death more often than others.
I don’t talk about sex as much as I do death, but is that a problem when entering the autumn years of your life?
Many people I know don’t like talking about death. Do you? Many don’t enjoy discussing sex but is it easier to talk about than death?
Is it odd or natural to think and talk about death and sex simultaneously? You tell me.
Once upon a time, sex was a subject people didn’t like talking about. I’m going back to my early years here when sex was a hush-hush subject, almost taboo.
There was little information available about sex while I was growing up. The reaction I once got from my elders when I asked, ‘where do babies come from because I know the stork doesn’t bring them?‘ was like watching the faces of those watching the gory scene in a horror movie. ‘Is it something about a man and a woman solving a puzzle?‘ I went on to ask.
When I asked those questions, I got looks of shock, horror and embarrassment. My grandmother walked out of the room while my mother and father tried to change the subject quickly.
During the lockdown, my partner and I talked about death. But it was only while updating our wills. We couldn’t get past the point where we would talk about our deaths and what we wanted to happen when that time came. ‘We’ll talk about that another day,’ I told myself, yet death can come to any of us anytime. Can you imagine the problems we cause by not talking to each other about death?
Although nobody likes talking about death, we read, write and watch it happening in books, on television, in theatres and cinemas. It seems natural when reading, writing or watching it, but when talking about our deaths or the death of somebody we know, there comes the point where I hope somebody else will take the lead, and the subject will quickly change.
Why am I talking about death?
I have written about death here, but the truth is that what I call the otherside of death (where the person dying is not me) is approaching; it becomes a subject we can’t avoid. I have an aunt who is nearing the end of her life.
At 95 years old, some say my aunt has had an excellent innings. She loved life, but she wouldn’t like the life she is now living. I think I followed her for the love she had for life. However, she has spent what is left of her life in a hospital bed for the last three months. Her final words to me before she went into a deep sleep were, ‘I want to go home.’
I can relate to how she feels. Whenever I have been ill and not at home, I’ve always wanted to go home. If we allow it, being in familiar surroundings can help. Well, it always works for me. But does it help when nearing our final days?
As she faded in and out of consciousness, my aunt reacted to some voices in her hospital room yet ignored others. I wondered if she could choose which voices she wanted to respond to and which she chose to ignore? Does she have any control over what she hears while her life slips away?
Why do some people die quicker than others?
Truth be known, I wouldn’t say I like watching my aunt’s death being so drawn-out. The family all agree that she’d hate to be at the point she is – having to live the drawing out of the last days of her life in a deep sleep in a hospital bed. ‘There’s nothing else we can do for her except keep her comfortable,’ the medical staff tell us. ‘But keep talking to her because hearing is the last sense to go.‘
Really? Is hearing the last thing the dying sense? How can they possibly know? Have some of these staff lived previous lives, or has somebody who has left this world told them that’s what happens? It seems odd to say. I can not work out how they know.
When my father died in October 2020, his death was swift. He died within 24 hours of being taken ill. There were no weeks of being unconscious in a hospital bed. Yet when my mother died in September 2015, she took many weeks to die after we were told there was nothing else they could do. Why do some people die quickly, yet others seem to take weeks, months or years to pass?
Are those who have long-drawn-out deaths having to pay for what they may have done during their lives, or is there something or someone who has overall control over how long it takes for us to die? Do some linger because there is some unsettled business to attend to, or do we have no power over how long it takes to take that final breath?
Where do we go just before we die?
Years ago, I believed there was a waiting room we entered when dying. We sat there waiting for our name to be called before going through another door that took us on our next journey. Some remained longer in that waiting room than others. But while we wait, we are occasionally permitted to briefly go back through the first door to check what is happening in the world we are leaving. Perhaps we’re not quite ready to go because we’re waiting for somebody to come and say goodbye?
I’ve often asked myself why my mother took so long to pass away. Did she not want to go, or was she told she had to wait her turn? In life, we queue. Do we have to queue to die?
When we die, are we leaving behind those still alive, or do the living leave us behind?
I probably talk or think about death more often than others. Many people I know don’t like talking about it. How often do you talk about death?
Perhaps I should have talked more about sex? But would anyone have wanted to discuss it with me?
What are your thoughts on why we dislike discussing death or sex?
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104 thoughts on “Shall We Talk About Death Or Sex?”
During the last few days of my late husband’s life, he wasn’t aware of what was going on around him. After seeing him like that for three days, I realized that since he was such an organized person, he needed to know I had everything under control before he left.
So, on the last day of his life, I brought my guitar and lap top to the nursing home. After singing his favorite songs, I took his hand and told him all arrangements were made and we just needed to set the date for his funeral. I assured him that although I would miss him, it was okay for him to go. I then powered up my lap top and started working on his obituary. The next morning, he was gone.
What a lovely story to share with us. It adds to my belief that some of us can choose when to start our next journey, although we may wait to leave before we know everything is done and wrapped up in the life we are leaving.
I think sex should remain private between two consenting adults. As for death, we are born to die, and die we eventually will. It’s no use being in denial, and as we get older it makes sense to organise a will so that everybody in the family knows who will get what. My mother got me to organise her funeral six months before she actually died. It was quite a relief not to have to do it at the time of her death.
Good to hear your mother had already arranged her own funeral. I know how much of a relief that must have been. My stepfather did the same, organising his and my mother’s funeral. I helped with the paperwork and sent it all off for them. Within a year, they had both passed away.
Thanks for joining the discussion and also for linking to this post.
It just seemed strange to organise my mother’s funeral while she was still alive.
I know what you mean but look at all the relief it gave you when arranging the funeral.
Sex and death are only linked by their undiscussability, and the fact that sex leads to conception which leads to you know what. Oh, and I guess there’s the ‘little death’. But death I find fascinating, it defines us all. I could talk about it for hours, my problem is, who with? As regards your question about hearing, my guess is that nurses have noticed a reaction to sounds in the dying, at a point when they no longer respond to visual stuff.
Same here. I could talk about death for ages, but probably more about what there is after death. There are so many versions of what happens. I wonder which is true, or perhaps we all go on to different outcomes?
Thank you so much for joining the discussion.
Yes, that fascinates me too.
Death of loved ones are so painful. When it’s murder then you can’t get over it.
That is one of the worst kinds of death – being taken when our time is not up.
Yes…murder is worst kind of death. My grandmother and father was murdered by my aunt for some property issues.
I’m so sorry. What an awful experience to have witnessed.
Yes it is awful and painful experience.