The Last Day
If today was the last day of my life I would want four
comforts.
I
would want my three children to be with me. Your children don’t belong to
you but they are of you and as such
represent a myriad of two-way transactions which form a large part of your
life. I’m very fortunate that my children have achieved and given so much joy
over the years that having them beside me would bring a degree of comfort in my
final hours. Talking with the children would generate stories of their growing
up and it is stories that provide social nourishment. When I’d passed those
stories would give them comfort and hopefully some laughter. While those
stories live in the children’s memories then I will live on after the physical
presence has gone.
I
would want to be beside the sea. My formative years were spent close to the
sea and even though it hasn’t always been flat calm when I’ve travelled on it,
it has never done me harm. In one mood the power of the sea is a reminder to us
all of the unrelenting force which is Mother Nature and our relative
insignificance. The sea in a different mood can provide comfort with its gentle
lapping against the land. It is a reminder of the life giving presence of water
on the Earth, a source of food and even has a smell all of its own. It
influences the shape of our world and the weather that we all experience. We,
in the UK, are an island nation so why would we not want to be close to the sea
at the point of our leaving this life?
I
would like a bottle of malt whisky to be available. This may seem to be a
frivolous waste of an opportunity, and let me assure you that it wouldn’t be my
intention to drink the whole bottle, but it has been one of my personal
comforts throughout the majority of my adult life. I have never made myself
drunk or ill on whisky but have learnt about the subtleties that each type of
malt whisky embodies. It is often described as the ‘water of life’ and that
symbolism seems appropriate for someone’s final moments. If you sip whisky
gently you may discover a surprising plethora of flavours. One of my
favourites, Oban, has subtle hints of caramel, honey and vanilla.
Coincidentally, vanilla is one of my favourite flavours, and so it is
unsurprising that I enjoy an alcoholic drink which has that characteristic.
I
would like photographs of my parents in my hands. In many ways this
reflects back to the presence of my children. Irrespective of your
relationships with your parents, and they can be stormy, we are all an amalgam
of our parents genes, attitudes and learning mixed in a new package. It is
natural for me to look upon their countenances in my final moments. It will
also, as before, generate stories that will provide a level of continuity for
the children about their family which in their turn they can pass to their
progeny.
My parents, for all my faults, stood
by me for as long as they were alive and I am trying to be the same for my
three kids. One thing that I’ve made a bit of a mantra is that they can’t do
anything in their lives that would stop me talking to them at the very least.
If you keep talking all situations are repairable.
Selecting the above four wishes in a
relatively short time was quite difficult and of course there are things that
are missing. I haven’t chosen any of my favourite music to have playing, a
favourite book or the Bible. It’s probably because what is important to me are
people and the bottom line is that we are social animals. To die without others
nearby must be a terrifyingly lonely experience whether you are in pain or not.
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