Abstract
The lived reality of death and dying has always carried a mysterious, opaque quality. In a moment, an individual is living and breathing the air that everyone shares. In the next, that same individual ceases to interact with the world. The stark contrast is jarring and has been a core theme in untold works of art and literature.
Dying: A Memoir is not the standard introspection on illness and death. The majority of the book is not about the concept of death itself but rather an autobiographical reflection on Cory Taylor's upbringing and family dynamics. From her challenging attempts to heal sibling conflicts to the tenuous relationship between her frustrated mother and free-spirited father, Dying: A Memoir walks us through Taylor's life with a front row view: at once detached but ever present in the moment.
Once we overcome our biases for what a narrative on dying “should” be, we can realize how maturely Dying: A Memoir illustrates what a narrative on dying “can” be. Dying: A Memoir, as the title suggests, is Cory Taylor's personal account of what dying means for that “in-between” transition between life and death.
Taylor's exploration of what dying is full of wit and verve but deeply honest and revealing. Ultimately, she teaches that dying is not just about death, the end result. Rather, dying is a process of recollecting one's life experiences, making sense of the highs and the lows, and finally coming to terms with the narrative of life that one has lived.
When you're dying, even your unhappiest memories can induce a sort of fondness, as if delight is not confined to the good times, but is woven through your days like a skein of gold thread.
Taylor's writing is clear and colorful, almost crystalline, but also bluntly reminds you that backward glances to one's past can be painful. At one point, Taylor describes with nostalgic beauty what she sees as she walks with her husband along a river. Rippling water, a stalwart mother duck with her ducklings, a darkening evening sky, a stream of fruit bats flying toward enticing figs. As if with a written paintbrush, Taylor manages to depict vivid images of moments gone by. In the flick of an instant, she juxtaposes living vicariously through memory and the stark reality of hitting the hard wall of mortality.
The heart of Taylor's story is the narrative of her own family. She recounts a father who would sulk for days and then go off on a flying expedition to fulfill his thirst for aviation. She tells of a mother who overcame years of stifled, choked breaths growing up in a grief-ridden household who repeats a similar dynamic in her own household. Taylor admits to a tepid relationship with her brother and sister marked by disagreements but never the courage to speak up and properly discuss how to scatter their mother's ashes. The family story is characterized by missed attempts to make amends and heal from decades of infighting.
Through dying, Taylor is ultimately able to say the following: Yes, I have regrets, but as soon as you start rewriting your past you realise how your failures and mistakes are what define you.
She creates a subtle but clear distinction between having regrets and being regretful. Although Taylor may have regrets, she is strong enough to take ownership as she recollects her tumultuous life story. Through her writing, Taylor communicates a serene peace and path of hard-won self-discovery that shows how much the process of dying is about the process of remembrance. Through all this, Taylor indicates that the process of dying affords one the opportunity to experience the passage of time and reflect on his or her life with newfound perspective.
Life is simultaneous, all of our experiences existing in time together…my body is my journey, the truest record of all I have done and seen, the site of all my joys and heartbreaks, of all my misapprehensions and blinding insights.
Although death is not the focal point of the story in Dying: A Memoir, it is certainly the singular concept that inspired Taylor to narrate her life. During moments like the following, I experienced the full gravitas of what it might be like to go through the harrowing experience of Taylor's confrontation with mortality.
I had no idea that the body could turn against itself and incubate its own enemy. I had never been seriously ill in my life before; now suddenly I was face to face with my own mortality. There was a moment when I saw my body in the mirror as if for the first time. Overnight my own flesh had become alien to me, the saboteur of all my hopes and dreams. It was incomprehensible, and so frightening, I cried.