Why We All Need ‘A Beginner’s Guide To Dying’

There I was, having my usual slow Sunday wander in my local Waterstones, and a small unassuming book, about A5 in size, caught my eye.

Though the book was small in size, the title was written in large black bold print, secured firmly at front and centre of the white book cover, and the title read: A Beginner’s Guide to Dying.

With a title like that, I had to admire it’s boldness; it was declarative, plain and unashamed, proudly taking its place amongst the other books in the ‘new non fiction’ section.

I picked it out from the shelf, found a comfy armchair in a cosy corner and opened the cover. I’m not sure what to expect, maybe a solemn read? But as I begin reading the first few pages I’m immediately struck at how light, warm, conversational and peppered with irony the writing is. And as I turn page after page, I realise that, actually, this book is more about living than dying.

The book is divided into sections including chapters on ‘Perspective’, ‘Gratitude’, ‘Grief’, ‘Acceptance’ and ‘Regrets’, to name a few. 

It also gives advice on how to approach and talk with the dying, topics to avoid or dive into and we learn Simon’s thoughts, musings, fears and outlook on his prognosis and how he approaches the last section of his life. He writes: ‘However much we’ve seen or thought about death, we’re all beginners at it when it’s our turn’, and that he is just acting as ‘a reporter from the front line’.
The book is full of both humour and raw humanity, and is full of such beautiful and useful advice about not only how to interact with people who are dying, but also with how to interact with the subject of death itself.

Death is inevitable. It’s a universal truth, and a final curtain call is coming for us all. 

On paper, death is so ordinary when you think about it, people are living and dying every second of every day. But when we encounter it in our personal lives it can feel like the ground beneath our feet has suddenly disappeared, that what has grounded us and rooted us in our every day lives has shifted so drastically, and the physical and emotional void left by our loved one after they have died can feel crushing. The truth of it is that death is primal, it’s animalistic, it’s painful.

Even though we know in our logical brains that it will be a part of all of our own stories one day, it remains a very uncomfortable truth to confront, and, in turn, we avoid it. Sometimes because there is a shrouded superstition that if you talk about it then it might somehow tempt fate or because there’s a level of denial whereby facing it seems too scary.
Like your inner child looking at the monster that lives under your bed right between the eyes.

So, of course, as a society we don’t like to talk about it. It’s easier to temporarily bury our heads in the sand, ignore it and continue to live our lives, saving it for a future version of ourselves to think about. And I think that to a degree this is very healthy. We shouldn’t be preoccupied with the thought of death too much, but an awareness and a fleeting discussion every now and then can be so helpful, especially for helping those who remain after a loved one dies. For example, being safe in the knowledge that you were able to honour your loved ones wishes and preferences after they die is a small comfort during such a traumatic time.

To open discussions about preferences like where someone would like to be laid to rest, whether someone would like to be resuscitated or not, or whether they would prefer to be buried or cremated are useful discussions to have if you can. 

Boas writes that to have an awareness of death will actually help us to live better and fuller lives.

He writes: ‘Benjamin Franklin observed that most people die at 25, but are not buried until they are 75. Now is the time, however old you are, to take stock and realise that life is precious and finite, and if you’re prioritising status or wealth, or feeling stuck or loveless, or putting things off, or waiting until retirement’ to really start living, that we’re gambling with a level of certainty that none of us actually have. He continues ‘the world is so full of opportunity and weirdness and colour, it would be a shame to sleepwalk through this utterly improbable gift we’ve b been given of simply existing at all’.

In discussing death and dying, Boas manages to do so by making it feel natural and ordinary, he removes the fear element and his focus is far more in the direction of highlighting the fact that just because we will all die one day, it shouldn’t distract from the other side of the same coin, which is: we get to live. And he writes about what a beautiful and wonderful opportunity this is:

‘To exist is to have won the lottery. In fact, there are so many bits of extraordinarily unlikely good luck that have occurred just for us to be born – the laws of physics, the strengths of forces and the mass of an electron are poised precisely so that stars and planets can form.
Inanimate stardust somehow combined to become self-replicating, somehow developing further into complex life.

Of all the billions of people in the world, your parents met and merged. And of all the sperm and eggs they produced, the only two that would make you fused and multiplied.
If the moment you were conceived had been any different – a week later, a bottle of wine soberer – you wouldn’t have been born.

We also live in an age of extraordinary abundance, the poorest of us richer than any medieval king in terms of access to food, energy, care, knowledge and justice.

So if I whine that my life will have been shorter than many modern people’s, I am massively missing the point. I’ve existed for 46 years. It’s as churlish as winning the EuroMillions jackpot and then complaining bitterly when you discover that there’s another winning ticket and you’ll only receive half.

Life is precious, unlikely and beautiful.
You are exquisite.
We should be dazzled by our good fortune – dancing on the tables every day.
And I intend to keep dancing in whatever time I have left here. And (who knows?), perhaps afterwards, too.’

– Simon Boas

I read this book from cover to cover and I can’t fully describe how wonderful it really is. 

Not only did it give great advice about how to support and interact with someone who is dying; but it also shook me awake to not only get more comfortable with the prospect of my own death but it also awakened me to the simple fact that I am indeed alive and living. Boas writes about life and living in a way that really showcases the beauty of it all, and illustrates with such a great mix of wit and humanity that the true pulp and nectar of life lies in self-acceptance, connection and honesty with others and in the gratitude and appreciation of this gift that we all, myself included, take for granted on a daily basis.

This little book about death made me more determined to live, and it reframed how I understand and approach life, death, legacy and grief. I’ll share one more quote with you, dear reader, that has really helped me personally in my own journey with understanding and accepting death, and that is to place my focus on what is left behind when someone dies, which is the residual love they shared with you that becomes their legacy. Boas writes:

‘All our lives can be thought of as books: for some we are just a paragraph or a footnote, and for others we are a chapter or a volume. But we’re not someone’s whole book, even our spouse’s or our parents’ or our children’s. We are characters in their stories. And they will keep writing beautiful chapters in their own books after we have gone. Just because someone dies before you, it doesn’t change the joy (and pain and exasperation and everything else) that their segment of your book has brought you. Dwell on the quality, not the quantity, and don’t fixate for too long that it ended, just like you don’t dwell for too long on the fact you’ve finished reading or watching something you loved. Just be glad you had them, and that they will be with you forever as a part of your own story.’

– Simon Boas

A Beginner’s Guide to Dying is a real treasure of a book, it’s full of wit, wonder and raw humanity; and whatever your relationship or proximity to death is, I wholeheartedly think it’s a must read for everyone.