Caryn Gootkin is consumed by thoughts of death and the way we talk, write and sing about it following a friend’s slow, painful death.
My columns are usually whimsical and somewhat irreverent takes on language-related issues that tickle my fancy. But not this one. If you are in the mood for a light-hearted skip through the English language I am going to disappoint you.
She was alive. She lived. She was living.
She was dying. She died. She is dead.
These words are harsh and sombre and the transition from life to death so final. The words make us feel uncomfortable so we’ve invented euphemisms, curious phrases to make death easier to talk about, more palatable.
She passed away
She is no longer
She departed
She is in a better place
She rests in peace
She is deceased
She stopped living
She breathed her last
She gave up the ghost
She succumbed
NO. NO. NO.
She died.
It doesn’t matter how you say it, the fact remains that, in plain language, she is dead. I prefer “is dead” to “died”. “She died” (or any one of the inadequate options I listed above) implies that she did something, that it involved an act of volition on her part.
It didn’t. She fought death to the (very) bitter end. She did not want to die. She was not ready to die. And I refuse to accept that her time had come. Or that she is now in a better place.
These and other meaningless platitudes are linguistic constructs we use when we don’t know what else to say. Much as I love Billy Joel, he immortalised one of the most ludicrous of all these mottos in his song “Only the good die young”.
Our greatest thinkers – writers, philosophers, religious leaders and poets have spent centuries trying to soften the grim blow of death, to make sense of their own grief, to console those who have lost a loved one. (There I go using delicate language instead of brutal realism – “losing” a loved one, as Oscar Wilde’s Lady Bracknell so wittily retorts, implies carelessness on our part. Except in extreme cases, nobody dies because their loved ones forgot where they put them.)
As beautiful as the words of the popular eulogy poem “Do not stand at my grave and weep” are, I take no comfort in its message: “I am not there; I did not die.” What was the attributed author, Mary Frye, thinking when she wrote these words? That we would be fooled into believing the person we had just buried was not actually dead? That we would find solace in the thought that they were everywhere around us?
She is dead. Nothing anyone says can change that.
Filmmakers have tackled the subject from all angles – from heartbreaking, poignant films we call tearjerkers to comedies that make us cry with laughter.
One of the silliest films I ever saw was Death Becomes Her. I loathed the film and now I hate the fact that it introduced an inane phrase into my head, one I can’t seem to expunge.
Death is not becoming. Death did not become her. Living became her.
One of the most touching funeral scenes is that in Four Weddings and a Funeral. And it is not just because the actor who played the vicar at the funeral was my great uncle, Neville Phillips, although that does make me swell with pride.
The bereaved partner of the dead man recites the beautiful poem Stop all the Clocks by W H Auden to the mourners. What I love about this poem is that it doesn’t depict death as an ethereal passing into a peaceful sleep which should make the mourners rejoice. Auden’s Death is a cruel force that has wrenched a person away and leaving a gaping hole in the lives of those left behind.
And despite John Donne’s eloquent words, “Death be not proud”, and his angry railing against Death, the annoying bully who doesn’t make good on his threats, it is Death that always wins in the end.
And we are left reeling, confused, angry, sad.
Rest in peace, my friend, you will be sorely missed. Always
Follow Caryn on Twitter @inotherwordscg
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8 Comments
Beth Shirley
Thank you for this – it is beautiful and true and so needed to be said. We need to bring back language to where it speaks to truth and authentic emotions, rather than gleaning over them.
Suzette
I heard this morning over e-news that Michelle Obama said: ” Kader Asmal passed “. This was before I read your column, but at the time I thought that she either thinks that he is NOT dead as he had passed by, or that she perhaps saw his ghost passing by……..however this must be Americanism: by leaving out the ‘away’ it’s likely to sound softer, less harsh……..Suzette vdM.
Jean Racine
It’s specifically a black Americanism, Suzette. Incidentally, since moving to SA, I’ve found a similar expression amongst elderly black South Africans: saying “So-and so is late”.
in other words - Caryn
Thanks Suzette and Jean,
What a perfect example. I remember reading Alexander McCall Smith’s Mma Ramotswe series, set in Botswana, and all the characters referred to the dead as being late. For what? It is very much a cultural thing. But it doesn’t help me deal with the reality of death.
The death of Kader Asmal on the same day as I wrote this piece made the gaps Death leaves feel even wider.
Caryn
in other words - Caryn
Yes, Beth, as my 5-yr-old son says, let’s call a spade a spade. And let’s call death death.
It feels much more real.
Caryn
Ann Donnelly
I think it depends on your view of the afterlife. If, like me, you believe that our sojourn on this earth is only a prelude to something greater; you do, in fact, “pass” when you breathe your last earthly breath. You’re on your way to the next part of the journey, babe!
And I think Mary Frye’s words of comfort are intended to portray that the MEMORY of the departed person lives on, even though their physical presence has gone.
It’s a sensitive subject and is better dealt with kindly, methinks.
Caryn Gootkin
I hear you. I am feeling somewhat less angry now, a month after her death.
I envy people whose belief system gives them some solace when dealing with death. And you are probably correct that Ms Frye was referring to legacy of the person who died.
However, the rant was quite cathartic for me and I have no doubt I will feel all the same emotions the next time death enters my circle.
Thank you for your words.
Caryn
Mandy
Of course, you are spot on. Auden’s poem has always been one of my favourites for that very reason. The truth is that there are no words to console those who grieve their dead relatives or friends. I have just returned from the funeral of one of the kindest, gentlest souls that ever walked this earth. She died unexpectedly, and far too soon. And that is all I can say. She is dead, and I for one, will miss her.