The Cycle of Life

Nadine Mellor - 1 May 15

Death has been in my thoughts a lot recently. Last week I went to my great-aunt’s funeral. She was 92. Her death was unexpected although she had been in hospital, which is where I last saw her the week before she died. We had had a lively conversation about the election, memories of the WAAF, her father’s secret work at Bletchley, and desultory family gossip. She had no children, wasn’t religious, never worked, and her husband was long dead. Yet the service at the crematorium was surprisingly life-affirming. There was a terrific turnout of friends from the golf club, her bridge partners (she played for Surrey and England) and extended family. And people spoke warmly of her generous and laid-back disposition, and extraordinary knowledge of sporting trivia.

Two months ago my father-in-law died in Dublin. In contrast, he was a deeply religious and spiritual man, wholly devoted to his wife, his five children and their offspring, and his passing was not unexpected as he had suffered ill health for a couple of years, getting progressively weaker. It was my first full-blown traditional Irish funeral, and I was really impressed.

Due to a surfeit of death in the Putney area my aunt had not been dispatched until a full month after her demise. Whereas my father-in-law died on Tuesday and was buried on Saturday. In between, family flew in from Sydney, Pittsburgh, Saudi Arabia, New York and Perth. We all visited the funeral parlour in turn to spend time with him in the open casket (the Lying In). I find it extraordinary that I am approaching my half-century, yet this was the first dead body I had properly seen, had touched. We revere birth, we preserve youth, we apply moisturiser, we shun decay.

On the Friday there was a ritual known as The Removal. This involved immediate family from age 3 to 82 standing around the coffin sobbing and holding each other, the priest saying prayers over the body and sprinkling holy water, and then the coffin was closed and removed to the church. Here, a short service was attended by at least 100 mourners, all of whom lined up afterwards to offer condolences to my mother-in-law and her five children. The next day even more people attended the funeral service itself, there were wonderful tributes, moving prayers and heartfelt eulogies. I cried the most as the coffin was carried out of the church by his four sons and two nephews. It was a cold, clear blustery day so I assumed few would trek to the cemetery up in the Wicklow hills, but dozens did to watch the lowering of the coffin into the grave and the grandchildren threw daffodils atop the casket. And then 65 came for lunch at a restaurant back in town. People came out of the woodwork from every stage of his life; my husband greeting school friends not seen for decades. It was such a testament to my gentle, thoughtful and kindly father-in-law. And also to the Irish tradition, which doesn’t sweep death aside, but celebrates the life lived and cherishes the bereaved family.

So yes, mortality has been on my mind. Having children in my 40s meant I could be frivolous for longer than most of my peers, before succumbing to the awe and angst of parenthood. There’s the bliss of unconditional and very tactile love, the onslaught of unfettered childish emotion, and the realignment of one’s life around a unit, a tribe, a family focused on the next generation.

And although this has cocooned me from the inevitable end game to some extent, I’ve been very aware these last few years that from now on I will know more deaths than births. My social circle are grieving their parents, and managing decline, needing to make big decisions about housing, geriatric care, powers of attorney, nursing homes vs home care, living wills. Having small children means making one’s own will and nominating guardians in the event of one’s own untimely demise, which can be a very fraught process. None of this is made easier by the majority of us not living particularly close to one’s parents. We all make our own villages wherever we go, but modern life often dictates this to be at a distance from immediate family. And having kids late in life can mean juggling the very vocal self-centered needs of smaller fry with those of the more stoical and self-effacing older generation to the latter’s detriment.

We remove children from death. I’m not convinced this is right. Kids are more callous and unsentimental than we recognise (look at the popularity of Horrible Histories), and I thought it very important my children said a proper goodbye to their grandfather, so yes we took them to the Lying In with the rest of the family. My 7 year old daughter was intellectually fascinated by it all, and anxious that she wasn’t crying as those around her were. My 3 year old threw a tantrum on the way as he didn’t want to stop playing with his animals, and I was dreading bringing him to a sombre and reverent space. As soon as he came into the chapel he calmed, clung to me, stared at his grandfather and asked if that was Poppa in the box, is he dead, why did he die, why do people get old, and then promptly fell asleep on my shoulder, felled by the unchecked emotion in the room. He revived in the church asking if Poppa was in that box at the front and said goodbye loud and clear.

My son has now mixed up seeing Santa Claus in his sleigh flying over Dublin last Christmas (actually a convenient sighting of the International Space Station) with the subsequent trip to bid farewell to his grandfather, and last week asked if Father Christmas was going to save Poppa. He came back from a city farm outing recently announcing that the pig had died because it was old, just like Poppa, and that he wasn’t going to die because he was still little. We are going to visit my mother-in-law, he asked if Poppa would be alive again, I said I’m sorry darling, but no. He said, pleeeeaassse.

I told him everything dies in the end; he now applies this to the spring daffodils blooming and fading all around. He will come to understand that there is no life without death.

And one day he will realise that one certain way of achieving immortality is to secure his genes in future generations.

Image by Nadine Mellor

Nadine Mellor

Nadine is the Editor of i-escape's Kids Collection, an extensive hand-picked portfolio of stylish family-friendly places to stay worldwide. Formerly in film & TV, the move to work in the travel industry suits her insatiable wanderlust! Nadine lived abroad for some years, including in Sydney, and San Francisco where Esme, 9, and Cormac, 5, were born. She lives with her lovely Irish husband in North London where she grew up, and has an adventure every month, rain or shine.

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