Western Walkabout: How I’d Like To Die
Richard Harris contemplates the topic which most of us shy away from.
Dying isn’t on my agenda right now and this is a topic I’m reluctant to address.
I wept when I heard that my Mother had died – she was in a small room at the Friarage Hospital in Northallerton, Yorkshire. She turned to face the wall – and she died alone, aged about 90. I’d not like to die like that.
My wife, Alex, died on a morphine pump after a losing battle with ovarian cancer. I was sitting with her in the palliative care hostel at Shenton Park, Western Australia, holding her hand.
A few hours earlier, we had our last conversation. “Not long now,” she whispered to me.
Our son lay asleep in the chair over by the wall. It was about 4 am. It was raining outside. I heard a small bird call mournfully. My wife took three light breaths and then she was gone.
I’m not sure I want to die like that but it was the best I could do for her. I went home deathly tired to try to organize what I saw as the butt end of my life. I was 53 years old.
In a dream some years ago, I saw myself as a very old man. What finally seemed to claim me was pneumonia – the old man’s friend. I woke up before I died – “Okay, mate, you’ve been warned,” I told myself. “Don’t get pneumonia.”
I went to town that day and bought myself some thermals.
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To read more of Richard’s brilliant stories and columns please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/western_walkabout/
