My mother's deathbed

Or not. You see, I've often wondered if she ever really had a deathbed. Certainly not in a traditional sense. Does one need to be in a bed for it to be hailed a deathbed? Either way, I would be lying if I said I haven't tried to picture what it was like for her when she died.

(Before I dive into my enquiry, I must say that the last thing I want to do with this post is to cause distress to those who knew Mum. Or in fact anyone. Please try to draw strength from knowing that, for some of us, when we talk about death in a very real sense it can make us stronger and our connection with life deeper.)

This adult orphan has done a lot of talking about life lately, which isn't such a bad thing I guess when you recognise that's what envelopes us on a daily basis. I've also spoken a fair bit about the repercussions of death. But little has been said thus far about her actual death. The minutes before, those seconds during, and the moments after. Each of us will die and we all wonder what it will be like. It doesn't make us grim or a cause for concern to ponder on such things. It makes us human beings.

You see, I went to see a performance at Sadler's Wells in London the other week, Requiem pour L., which fused video with live music and dance. The music incorporated African rhythms, jazz, opera and Mozart's last work. The video playing in the background contained real, slow-motion footage of a woman dying in what appears to be a hospice bed. Her final hours. Forgive my glaring sense of self-importance here, but it kinda reminded me of my mum. You know, like, dying.

I sat there watching an audience bathed in the reflected light from the stage. The audience watched the performers, who in turn watched the woman on the screen on her death bed. Apart from its tragic beauty, I thought, 'What is this? Why are we watching this? This isn't entertainment – this is real. Why is this accompanied by upbeat music and dance?' But I had to remind myself that this is the nature of art. It is a commentary on life and on death. These are things that can be perceived in many ways, and none are right and wrong. Interrogation and reflection is at the heart of it. As fellow Instagrammer thegoodfuneralcelebrant shared pefectly: "I believe that the culture of silence surrounding death should be broken through discussion, gathering, art, innovation and scholarship."

I didn't watch my mum die. I didn't even know she had died when she passed from this world to the next. She was on her own, with no-one holding her hand or easing her passage into the next place. And no, she was not in a bed. I have felt an immense sense of remorse about not being with her when it happened or being able to say goodbye over some period of time. I'd have taken any length of time going; just not a rushed goodbye thinking we would be seeing each other again with nothing changed. Although others who have experienced the long drawn out deaths of their loved ones may disagree.

I watched the (consenting) woman in the video on the screen of this performance die and it was just so, so challenging. The film takes the form of a long take (one continuous shot) and the camera very gradually zooms in closer to frame her face over the duration of the performance. No intervals, no let-up. As I said in my Instagram post above when I got home that night, I was an absolute wreck. Literally sobbing on the floor. But I realised in that moment that it was a topic I hadn't yet dealt with. My extreme reaction in the performance – tears, anger, discomfort, numbness; I didn't even applaud at the end, even though I had thought it was excellent – and then afterwards when I got home was the result of having not dealt with that chapter of my grief journey. It was like I'd had an allergic reaction. But it turned out to be so cathartic and I felt by the next few days I was able to lay that dormant turmoil to rest.

I don't know how long it took for my mum to die, all I know is that she tried to help herself but it was too late. And that's where the story ended for her. (Or did it? Discuss.) How was it when she slipped from a moment of life to a moment of death? Was that final moment painful for her, or a flood of peace? Did it last long? Did she see or hear anything strange? What did she think of? Did her mind turn to me? What changes happened in her physical body? Could you tell from looking at her that she no longer inhabited her body? Where did her life force go?

I think it's ok to ask these questions. As Socrates once said: "The unexamined life is not worth living." Maybe that's the case for death too. Perhaps interrogation – at the right time – rather than avoidance for the rest of our lives helps us rather than hurts us. With theatre, film, art and literature acting as a stimulus, we can dip a toe in from an objective angle and see where it takes us.