Why no one ever has, or ever will, ‘fall asleep’ on our watch

The world of death and dying has its own language. It’s a language cloaked in uncertainty and fear. It’s a language whose roots were formed in kindness, but which has outgrown its purpose.

The funeral industry is a peculiar old stick. It’s a world in which someone decided 150 years ago that they knew what was best and is still clutching on to that decision, despite the world around them being now completely unrecognisable.

The words dead, death and dying were outlawed. Which makes about as much sense as a plumber being forbidden from using the word leak. Got a hole in a pipe? Got water spurting from it? Got yourself a leak you have. Got someone in your life who’s no longer able to inhale and exhale? Got no pulse? They’re dead.

You most likely cringed a little as you read that last paragraph. You may even have winced. We recoil at the word dead because we’ve been told that’s how we are supposed to react. Dead is a fact. Just like breathing is a fact. Just like stopping is a fact.

In avoiding saying the word we add to the uncertainty. Death is no longer just life’s greatest unknown; it’s Voldemort now too. So scary that even saying its name is tempting fate. We replace died with passed, or lost, or (I must brace even to type this) fell asleep because we are trying to soften the blow. Nothing can. Skirting around the truth is confusing. It’s often more scary (which 8-year-old is ever going happily to bed again if they think falling asleep might mean you’re gone forever?) And it’s never as kind as a compassionately stated fact, spoken with kindness and backed up by loving support.