‘I believe that when I die I shall rot, and nothing of my ego will survive.’
(Bertrand Russell)
I was strongly influenced by Russell’s writing when introduced to it by a friend in my undergraduate days; it confirmed my atheism and my conviction that there is no life after this one. I do not dread dying but do regret that I will not be alive to witness significant future events, such as the birth of further grandchildren. It seems to me that only those who think there might be an afterlife need be apprehensive about what it might be like. I once felt a strong sense that heaven might be like the baggage hall at Heathrow Airport’s Terminal 3: a featureless space full of tetchy people waiting for something to happen.
As a biologist, I am very aware of the arbitrariness and brutality of life for most animals. On fine mornings I take a short stroll along our garden path, a damp place where I frequently hear the crunch of a snail ending its life beneath my foot. I imagine the snail had recently set out anticipating munching its way through a tender plant and then, after lunch, engaging in the arcane contortions involved in hermaphroditic sex. Crunch: death can come at any time, destroying our dreams. The animals I have worked on for much of my life, frogs, suffer appalling mortality as tadpoles through the influence of predators or climatic events. They never grow up to be frogs! Perhaps we humans should be grateful that so many of us live long enough to develop cancer.
My progress towards death has been enormously enriched by family and friends, to the extent that there are times when I feeI I have rarely been happier. A number of old friends have become regular and frequent visitors to our house, sitting beneath our apple trees with a glass of wine. The conversation is never maudlin; it usually begins with a quick update from me on my condition and my latest treatment and soon becomes about ordinary, everyday matters. With friends, as with my family, normality, as far as one can achieve it, is very important.
I find it difficult to know what to say about my family, who have been an extraordinary source of support and strength. We have talked hardly at all about death or about what dying might be like; what, after all, is there to say? We do talk at some length about what kind of funeral I would like. I have made it clear that it must be in a secular setting, that there must be no mention of a deity of any kind or of an afterlife. Our longest discussions concern appropriate music and readings. Most of us are biologists and we enjoy discussing various aspects of cancer: how it works, how it evolved. Alice’s research is largely involved with the immune system and she is particularly well-informed. Despite his literary background, Sam has clearly spent many hours on the internet and can hold his own in our discussions as well as I can.
