Cherie Thompson | Retired Party Guest / Great Grandmother / Dilettante

Death for me always meant the end of anything living. Humans, pets, plants, bad relationships, etcetera. After the end of the death visit it was time to get over it and get on with whatever was next. Except for my Dad, when I saw fear surface as his Mum's coffin thudded to the ground and he ran like a scalded cat into the distance at the cemetery. I saw the face of that scared boy emerge as we sat with Mum who was slowly dying. Dad was ashen-faced, sitting as far away from Mum and constantly asking me: “Has she gone yet?” I coaxed Dad to move to where I sat, as I reminded him it was his duty to assure Mum “Darl it's time to go”.

Same as it was my duty to let Dad go. I'll never find words to describe my relief when I felt Dad's soul leave. Dying was my fear too, the relief of basically guiding both Mum & Dad in death was gratefully inexplicable. Their deaths set me free.

Cancer took my brother away and by then I'd worked out Mum and Dad parented to the best of their ability. After knowing each other for a mere thirteen days their sixty-five-year marriage was tumultuous. Fortunately I'd learnt to quit blaming and accusing them for my life of eternal misery. 

When my Maternal Grandma died she'd willed her body to be donated to science. Hubby and I compared the deaths of my Grandma's and agreed we'd donate our bodies to science thinking it would avoid fears and trauma that might arise for our beloveds.

However, my Hubby died unexpectedly and suddenly at the precise time the University of NSW School of Anatomy was closed for renovations. Therefore body donations were not being accepted !!! A funeral had to be held for our Darling that was heartbreaking and traumatic in too many ways to recall now. 

What happens when we die had always been a load of codswallop from the days of Sunday School.

Right up to finding the courage to quit the Confirmation Class at St Matthews Bondi after Rev. Noble warned us 14-year-olds never to have anything to do with Catholics after waving the greatest fable ever written for thousands of years at us. How good people went up to heaven, where it was pearly gates, angels, harps and how bad people went to the fire & brimstone of hell. Scary tales that kept the congregation fearful, separated, at war and so on got me asking, plus thinking beyond the normal.  

Years prior clawing my way up the ladder in my hospitality industry career the usually taboo subject of death came up to which I replied I was ready to die at 50 as I didn't want to be a burden hence I intended to “Live fast die young and be a good looking corpse.” This year is my 80th Birthday however my expiry date has been joyously extended to 125-years after working out that everything I'd been searching for wasn't in the bottom of a cool refreshing glass of happiness it’s right here in me.

I recently read a newly published book:
“The gentle art of Swedish death cleaning: How to free yourself and your family from a lifetime of clutter”. It gave me the idea for the reincarnation of myself as The Aussie Death Cleaner!

Start getting rid of clothes, books and other detritus you've been hanging on to for years.

This is your warning to get rid of hidden, personal toys or R-rated gizmos starting NOW!!!

—Cherie Thompson (2024)

Editor’s note: Cherie is a devoted great-grandmother of two, a consumer representative for the Institute of Musculoskeletal Research, an avid Dilettante—and looking forward to living until she’s 125-years old.

The Death Letter Project welcomes your comments and feedback. Please feel free to leave a comment on our Facebook page or alternatively submit a message below.