“Almost everything–all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure–these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”
Jobs, S. (2005) Steve Jobs: How to Live Before You Die. Retrieved October 12, 2011,
A much loved Melbourne football coach died this week, Allan Jeans. Many from the sporting fraternity shared their tributes in the daily paper. Kim Hughes, a former Australian Test Cricket Captain, said “He’s one of the greatest people I’ve ever met. I just wish I’d got to know him a lot more.”
When I read that comment I immediately felt annoyed, on reading it again now I am less annoyed. I think it was the regret Hughes expressed that disturbed me. I am troubled that we harbour regrets after someone dies, and of course there are always regrets.
It seems to be a natural thing to be surprised by death. It is almost as if dying is something that happens to others, and there’s something unexpected in the experience when we are touched by death. I wait for death everyday, I still expect others to die rather than me, but I know it is around. It’s not that I’m dreadfully morbid but maybe realistically so.
Sometimes when the phone rings at night I answer with trepidation expecting sad news. I try to prepare myself for the unexpected. I am saddened by every loss but rarely surprised, and even less often do I feel regret about what I could or should have done.
It might be something I have come to terms with since Mottsu’s death. In the aftermath of the loss of him I felt incredible shock and surprise and regret, for almost everything I had and everything I hadn’t done. Grieving is different altogether to regret and it’s easier now, years later, to accept that people to go when it is their time.
Allan Jeans died at age 77, when exactly was Kim Hughes going to get to know him better? For me it’s an odd, uncomfortable, regret, and I can’t know what Hughes really meant from one brief quote in the newspaper.
Eulogies should celebrate, when eulogies are published and read, it is too late for regrets.
I feel privileged to have discovered this moving blog post by Derek K Miller. He wrote about facing death before he died.
He wrote about the process and his beliefs before dying of the complications of a severe cancer.
“The world, indeed the whole universe, is a beautiful, astonishing, wondrous place. There is always more to find out. I don’t look back and regret anything, and I hope my family can find a way to do the same.”
Vale Mottsu’s Dad 19 June 1930 – 7 April 2011
Much loved and much missed.
A number of people at the funeral said that although it was a sad occasion the service was special.
I recall a time Mottsu’s parents visited from New Zealand and we took them out for a special dinner to Jean Jacques, on St Kilda beach. Mottsu’s Dad ordered an entrée of mussels and he was disappointed. He was thinking of delicious New Zealand green lipped mussels, one of the largest mussel species, he was served little local Melbourne mussels. He was disappointed with the mussels, Mottsu and I were disappointed that he was disappointed. Things in Australia were never as at home. I love to tell that story whenever somebody mentions eating our little local mussels. For Mottsu’s Dad there was nowhere that compared to New Zealand.
I also remember dancing with Mottsu’s Dad at Mottsu’s brother’s wedding. We managed a reasonably synchronised shuffle. He shook a little, trembled with a little shake that arose from somewhere deep down. Dancing wasn’t something he did very much of.
I loved Mottsu’s Dad, shy tremor and all.
He was a truly good man, a father who lost his son too early.
One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight,
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other
That makes as much sense as the twins in Colorado who shot themselves in an apparent suicide pact. One of twins became the third person to die by suicide at the, ironically named, Family Shooting Center since 2004 the other survived. Senseless.
Early new reports centred on police investigations and questions of why. The police were unable to determine why the twins shot themselves. It surprises me that the investigators might have thought that the event could be explained with logic. I can’t imagine that logic could even begin to explain what happened. What reason would make sense of this tragic event?
In another report I read that there was no suicide note found. Interesting observation.
My heart goes out to the parents, family and friends of the twins Kristin and Candice, this must be a very difficult time for them. I hope they find solace, in time, even without explanations, understanding or reasons.
Investigators did finally concede that they will never know ‘why’.
It’s so difficult when someone dies by suicide, there is no way to rationalise or comprehend what happened. We’re left behind mourning, questioning, coloured by every possible shade of regret. Blame is present too, for not being stronger, kinder, for not being more something or less something else, for not anticipating and for not understanding.
I am thinking of Zoe Alder, her family, friends and colleagues their loss and grief. The circumstances of Zoe’s death are shocking and sad – a death by suicide leaves us bereft, almost without anything to hold on to.
There are many hints short newspaper article about Zoe Alder (link above); stress at work, hereditary factors, fear, a possible miscarriage. Nothing that really explains. A close examination conducted in the aftermath of a suicide tells so little and, in my experience, is little consolation. No answers, only memories, so today I am remembering Zoe.
There is crisis counselling around the world. In Australia Life Line 13 11 14.
I had to know more about the rats, remember the rats? They’re Norwegian it seems, interesting but of no consequence. Poor rats without hope, remind me of dear Mottsu, who was also bereft of hope. Here’s an article with the full (and horrible) detail of the drowned rats study.
A couple of compelling excerpts:
…whether they are restrained in the hand or confined in the swimming jar, the rats are in a situation against which they have no defense. This reaction of hopelessness is shown by some wild rats very soon after being grasped in the hand and prevented from moving; they seem literally to “give up.”
…after elimination of the hopelessness the rats do not die. This is achieved by repeatedly holding the rats briefly and then freeing them, and by immersing them in water for a few minutes on several occasions. In this way the rats quickly learn that the situation is not actually hopeless; thereafter they again become aggressive, try to escape, and show no signs of giving up.
Richter, C.P. On the Phenomenon of Sudden Death in Animals and Man. Psychosomatic Medicine Vol. XIX, no. 3, 1957
Hope can be learned, hedgehog.
Hope for me is holding someone’s hand.
Hold on to hope.