Most of us who occupy the baby-boomer (or the newly-coined zoomer) age group have vivid memories of the one and only Captain Kirk zooming around in his space ship boldly going where no man (or woman) had gone before.
It may be hard to believe, but that studly young William Shatner is now 80. And it's probably safe to say that the next unknown he'll be breaching is the one our society places the largest taboo on - death.
We like to joke at Toastmasters that the fear of public speaking tops even the fear of death as the number one horror we could encounter. The trouble with that premise is that death is assumed to be the one thing that should terrify us all.
That attitude makes talking about death pretty darned scary - a fact that causes us to do some stupid things. We avoid making out a will because, in the back of our minds, superstition convinces us that doing so will hasten our demise. We ignore the pain and suffering of the dying or the marginally alive and keep folks alive at all costs. We won't even have a discussion about euthanasia, because surely living with insurmountable pain is better than doing our own sign-off.
One of the most controversial stories we ever ran in our paper was a special feature written by reporter Christine Wood that covered what happened to the body after death. Her thoughtful story talked about local undertaker Dan Devlin's world in specific terms. For many weeks after, we had letters to the editor accusing us of being uncaring, callous individuals for daring to talk about such matters.
Fortunately for all of us, hospice societies the world over are breaking through this barrier. They provide a place for folks at the end of their lives or those living with terminal or untreatable diseases. The members, mostly volunteers, help the ill - and, perhaps more importantly, the families and friends of the patients - come to grips with the reality of death.
In my estimation, it takes a special person to look death in the eye daily and rise above the finality of it.
This past week my sister, who died of a particularly vile form of cancer at the age of nine, would have celebrated her 50th birthday. Back in 1970 in Dawson Creek, there was no hospice for adults or children.
There were no grief counsellors or support groups. The prevailing attitude was 'she's dead - get over it'. People never came right out and said it, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that conversation about coping with death wasn't a welcome one. And when I couldn't get a handle on my grief, there was even a heartless doctor who advised me if I didn't "smarten up soon," I'd be "put in the hospital to help the nurses make beds."
The Sunshine Coast is lucky to have a dedicated group of individuals who work long hours to help deflate the stigma of death. And as of this week, they finally have an office to call their own at the old Kirkland Centre in Davis Bay. For the suffering they alleviate in our community, their compassion and their care, I salute this group.
May you always be there for those facing the final frontier.
