Over the last few years death has once again become, in England, an acceptable subject for conversation & public debate, after a long period in which it seemed almost as if it were well on the way to being abolished. And so, in the same way people will tell you to shush if you mention the fact that it is not raining today, in the quasi-superstitious belief that you should not tempt fate in that way, so we should not talk about death, except to warn people that they are ‘more likely to die’ if they indulge in X, Y or Z ...
This was in part a consequence of the astonishing increase in longevity of those born since 1925, which meant that their children & grandchildren could easily reach the age of forty or more without ever having experienced the death of a loved one, attended a funeral or, most particularly, ever seeing a dead body. And we stopped knowing what to say to those who had such an experience.
The discussions now taking place however are not, in general, about death (what the state of being dead involves), but in dying, (the frightening process you go through while still alive). Implicitly, at least, many more people seem now to look upon death as THE END, a state of unknowingness which may actually bring blessed relief from the unbearability of continuing awareness.
It was not always so. Victorians knew a lot more about dying, something which they could observe all too often, than we do. The questions most troubling to the imagination were all about what comes afterwards.
Uphill
Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.
But is there for the night a resting place?
A roof for when the slow, dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at the door.
Shall I find comfort, travel-sore & weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me & all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.
Christina Rossetti
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