Death

This is going to be a strange post. But then it's a strange time, and my head is full of conflicting ideas and emotions and memories. So expect a jumble of words that may not entirely make sense and may not be in exactly the right order....

Last Monday, I found myself in Elstree, the home of Big Brother. On assignment as our roving reporter to meet with 89 potential housemates for the new series. It was brilliantly twisted of the Endemol staff - giving interviews with the possible housemates, but throwing in 75 red herrings to make it almost impossible for the red tops to do any dirt digging.

If anything, it was good for a laugh, I got to see the back of my head (what bald spot?) on Big Brother's Little Brother for about 2 seconds and had some fun chatter on the train back to London with a couple of online journalists about the series.

Rewind to two days before the funeral, his green Nissan Primera racing toward Ballycastle for the final time. But he’s not at the wheel, I’m the driver, my newly widowed mother beside me, still shell-shocked. Sister in the back seat, silent.

The motorway was crowded with delivery vans and people with places to be. We suddenly had a funeral to prepare for, and drove along in a bubble of silent devastation. Slightly envious of those people who had a normal day ahead of them.

I mention this, because the days leading up to my father’s funeral went by in a blur of relatives and blasts-from-the-past, and chain-drinking cups of tea. The beauty of a wake is that you don’t get a minute to dwell on your loss. That comes later. And although you wouldn’t think it, the constant stream of visitors was a massive comfort. Those faces from my childhood that I hadn’t seen in years, all with their own different connections to him. It was amazing to watch the enormous extended family rallying around, taking care of virtually everything and providing an endless supply of egg and onion sandwiches.

How does an Atheist deal with death? Two things have made me think about death and Atheism lately: a reading of Richard Dawkins' book, The God Delusion and the news that my father has terminal cancer.

Personally, I don't think my approach to death has ever been challenged by the death of a close relative. I've only attended a handful of funerals since my grandmother (on the McGarry side) died back in 1985. Of course, back then I was a fully subscribed Catholic, but I can only vaguely recall her decline and death. I might tell that story someday.

But for almost half my life now, I've been subscribed to an Atheist worldview. In later years, I've mixed in a little Buddhist philosophy with this: Buddhists don't shy away from the process of ageing and death, they accept it and embrace it. I read a few years back that some Buddhist monks meditate on skulls as a reminder that life is finite. Why pretend otherwise?