50 Years of Silence
Since 1965 when I was 16, thoughts of dying have never been far away: panic attacks re-structured my habitus; I was now dominated by fear and anxiety, any possibility of sweet, comfortable slumber driven out. Where once I could experience joy in living now I was obsessed by my physical vulnerability, over-sensitive, over-vigilant and isolated. But 50 years ago today when Dad was killed by cancer, I witnessed dying as something real. What I find terrible about people who have died is their cold hard silence. Until then all you have known is noise. Then quickly, suddenly they are quieted for good, their cold hard silence immediate and palpable, all questions from now on left unanswered. Fear of dying is a noisy, feverish, living experience; real dying is about cold hard lonely, unrelenting silence. They have gone – now live without them. Dying is a problem for those who are alive. I strive to make what I can of what he gave me till I too am silenced.