The generation who redefined what it means to be young can give their children a priceless gift – their clear wishes for end-of-life care
S
itting looking over a sparkling river, my 92-year-old mother and I were chatting about little things. The lovely day, the need for a dry-cleaning drop and kookaburras. Then she pointed at a blond beach bend and said, “Scatter me there when I’m dead.” I responded, “It’s a beautiful spot, Mum – do you want some cake?”
I was not being glib in this confronting conversation. It was afternoon teatime and this is how my family do chats; we go from cake to carking it. We combine the big, the small and the space beyond. Besides, I already knew that’s where she wanted to end up.
We’ve always been a family who goes there. Including on the two big topics of life – sex and death. There was no big “sex talk” at adolescence. No sitting us down, squirming with embarrassment and launching into the whole “when a couple really love each other”. There was instead matter-of-fact information given in cake-sized chunks, questions answered in age-appropriate ways and increments of information that built up over the years.
