BBC Radio 4 2016-04-01

BBC Radio 4 2016-04-01

One of the things I envy about the Victorians is their ability to talk about death....and to do that from an early age.

That's something very apparent in hymns, still beloved of some adults, in which youngsters were encouraged to sing about 'a land for little children above the bright blue sky. Indeed that hardy perennial Jesus Loves Me has a line in it about Jesus taking children 'up to heaven' for his dear sake.'

There was, of course, a reason for this. For many Victorians the first death they experienced was that of a young sibling. In both rural and industrial environments, infant mortality was sky high. There was little pre or post natal care, but plenty of malnutrition and industrial accidents. Thus from an early age surviving children had a vocabulary for death.

Now things are very different. The first death many of us deal with is that of an adult, often a grandparent. And the prolonging of life through medical treatment means that more and more people receive palliative or terminal care. We recognise this in the plethora of hospices which were not around two generations ago.

It is sometimes in these places – as I discovered recently when speaking at a national conference of palliative care professionals – that people begin to ask questions and talk about issues concerning death and the meaning of life which they may never have pondered before.

Hence yesterday the Royal College of Physicians commenting on a recent report noted the need for more people to be trained to deal with these difficult conversations.

However, I don't believe that the responsibility for talking about the ending of life should only be shouldered by trained medical staff. All of us need to be part of the conversation in our families and with our friends, preferably long before death comes close. Otherwise we may either struggle to find words or steer clear both of the conversation and, worse, of the person who is dying.

I say this with some conviction because two nights ago, a group of my friends met in the house of a woman whom we love who is nearing her end. I don't think anyone could anticipate what it would be like. Two of us had seen her recently and had spoken a little about her last journey and her daughter told us how she had calmly informed her close family that her death was imminent and spoke of her wishes regarding her funeral.

We were waiting for our friend to come back from hospital and be at home. Her arrival was deferred for about over four hours. Then the ambulance arrived and we began spontaneously to sing a lovely Alleluia from South Africa. She asked to be wheeled into the sitting room and she and the ambulance staff looked for a moment like a queen with her attendants.

Later we gathered round her bed where she signalled that each one of us should give her a hug before we sang a final song. And we left, all of us, in some way healed by her of our fear of death and dying.