On a crisp January morning, we carried Camilla’s purple coffin, covered in blooming yellow flowers, into the Art Deco chapel of a London crematorium as Leonard Cohen sang “Dance Me to the End of Love”. Her family and friends watched from their homes in New York City via a livestream link. They’d recorded voice notes in advance, which we’d uploaded to the music system. Camilla’s coffin rested on the marble catafalque, as their pre-recorded words of love, gratitude and admiration were played. As the curtains closed around her coffin, a recording of Camilla’s niece reading “Phenomenal Woman” by Maya Angelou echoed around the empty crematorium chapel.

Camilla lived a creative, vibrant and full life, surrounded by a wide circle of like-minded people. She died alone on a Covid-19 ward in a central London hospital. In the saddest and loneliest of circumstances, Camilla’s family and friends found a way to come together to say goodbye to the person who had been a huge force in all their lives.an end-of-life doula and a progressive funeral director. Anna supports people who are living with life-limiting illness, their family and friends, helping people to live as good a life as possible right up until the very end. In her doula role, Anna also works with people who are grieving. Louise supports people to put together funerals that honour, heal and inspire. Our joint mission is to normalise death and dying as part of life and living. Over the last year, our work, both together and separately, has changed immeasurably.

Many of us won’t have any idea that, worldwide, in an average year, around 151,600 people die every single day. That’s almost two people every second. Annually, in the UK alone, more than 500,000 people die. However, the Covid-19 pandemic has meant that death and dying have infiltrated and impacted our lives in ways we’ve never experienced before. As a society, we’ve been faced with the shock of horrifying death tolls on a daily basis. We’ve been unable to be at the hospital deathbed of someone we love, or if we were allowed, we’ve had to say goodbye through multiple layers of PPE. Some of us have attended restricted funerals, unable to engage with the rituals and traditions associated with loss

Where do we turn when someone dies? In normal times, we’d seek solace in the presence of others, we’d allow ourselves to be supported by the people around us. They would bear witness to our losses, keeping us close and secure in the knowledge they were near. Devastatingly, Covid-19 has changed all of this. We couldn’t reach out. We couldn’t physically be there. We couldn’t hold someone’s hand as they lay dying in hospital or give a friend or colleague a much-needed hug after a funeral service. Human touch and connection were replaced by a phone, an iPad or a laptop screen – a cold, hard, reflective surface with its ability to “connect” reliant on an intermittent internet connection. With the absence of human connection, of closeness, of the comforting arms of someone we love, how and where did we find consolation and care? How could we find ways to come together while staying apart?

We are privileged that our jobs have allowed us to witness a myriad of inspiring and beautiful ways people have found to do just that. The humanity of NHS staff has astounded us time and again. One nurse stayed with a young woman who was dying alone in hospital long after his shift was over, reading aloud the text messages she was receiving from family and friends. We saw a frightened young woman transferred from the hospital where she was receiving cancer treatment to hospice so she could be surrounded by those who loved her at the end. Her family played her favourite music and soothed her with stories from her childhood in a peaceful room overlooking the hospice gardens. And a newly married man, with his entire life ahead of him, died unexpectedly in a tragic accident. Hospital staff, despite restrictive regulations, rushed to find extra PPE so his new wife could be there to kiss him for the final time.

We watched a fractured community come together to share flowers from their gardens when florists were closed and funeral flowers were unavailable. A simple request via the neighbourhood WhatsApp group resulted in a widow’s doorstep overflowing with blooms for her partner’s coffin. We witnessed how the rules of social distancing have necessitated some radical creative thinking and we worked with a celebrant who designed a long multi-coloured ribbon that everyone at the funeral could touch and hold to feel connected, while still remaining physically distant.

We were asked to help facilitate a worldwide Zoom by a group of friends when one of them died by suicide. They wore his favourite colours, shared photos of the fun they’d had together and raised a glass of champagne in his honour. Separated by a virus, united in grief, connected via technology.

Who would have thought just 18 months ago that today we’d be watching the people we love dying over FaceTime and attending their funerals via video link? Yet the unimaginable has become our everyday reality. And it’s within the reality of the unimaginable that we’ve seen the infinite beauty and endless possibility of the human spirit shine. We’ve learned we can bear the unimaginable. We are bearing the unimaginable. Through kindness, creativity and determination, we’ve found hope in our heartbreak, discovered that our vulnerabilities are also our strengths, and realised that our resilience is born from finding fragments of optimism and wonder in the most unlikely of places

Now, the promise of spring sits in the cool end-of-winter air. Gone are the dark afternoons; the frost and biting wind are slowly disappearing, allowing these March days to tenderly unfurl, reaching expectantly into the longer evening light. They bring with them a degree of anticipation, hope and new life. There is life. There is hope. There’s always hope.

‘We All Know How This Ends: Lessons about Life and Living from Working with Death and Dying’ by Anna Lyons and Louise Winter is available now.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

March 21, 2021March 20, 2021

Dying a conscious death

Your dead body might be bad for the environment

By Gabrielle Sturm

As a young and seemingly invincible college student, one presumably does not put much thought into their inevitable death. However, if you are eco-conscious, perhaps it is time to start planning ahead.

The need to preserve one’s lifeless beauty for just a little bit longer has grave consequences for the earth. When a person dies, it is common for their body to be pumped with an embalming fluid that contains a mixture of toxic chemicals in order to postpone their inevitable decomposition. They are then placed in a casket that is likely made up of inorganic hardwood, copper, bronze, and steel. Their toxic body encased in a casket of unsustainable materials will eventually be lowered into the ground in a concrete crypt.

Green burials are a sustainable alternative to this contemporary western burial method. They may also be called “natural burials,” and the process does not involve any inhibition of decomposition. Instead, the body in its natural state is placed into the soil so that it can be recycled into the earth and help to nourish the land, as most decomposing life does. The body is wrapped in a biodegradable shroud or casket and then buried shallow enough to decay in a way that is similar to composting.

Craig Benson, an environmental science and management lecturer, said that the funeral and cemetery industry already appears to be responding to increasing requests for green burials.

“I would like to see more conservation burial options like the Prairie Creek Conservation Cemetery near Gainesville, Florida,” Benson said. “This is where old restoration ecologists, like me, could make a last ditch effort– pun intended– at creating a contiguous savanna habitat and providing lots of underground munchies for the microfauna and microflora. Why have a feast at your funeral when you can be one!”

In the United States, cremation has recently become the most popular choice for those who pass away. While the ashes of our loved ones harbor sentimental value, this way of honoring the dead is unfortunately still harmful to the environment. Cremation leads to release of harmful toxins into the atmosphere, including carbon monoxide, fine soot, sulfur dioxide, heavy metals, and mercury emissions.

When asked about the environmental impact of cremation, Jennifer Kalt, the director of Humboldt Baykeeper, gave insight on the atmospheric consequences of the practice.

“I noticed that the Los Angeles Air Quality Board recently lifted the limits on cremations temporarily due to the number of COVID-19 deaths,” Kalt said. “I’ve read that cremation is a significant source of mercury pollution. Once it’s released into the atmosphere, it gets re-deposited by rain and fog. All that does make me wonder why people think cremation is a better option. My understanding of the green burial concept is that it prohibits embalming, but human bodies still have contaminants that we store up over lifetimes.”

There are a few local options for those who choose to give their body back to the earth. Cemeteries in Loleta, Fortuna, and Blue Lake all offer natural burial options. However, Blue Lake Cemetery is the only place that does not require the body to be contained in a concrete crypt.

Environmental conflict resolution lecturer Natalie Arroyo said that, in her personal opinion, green burials seem like a great end-of-life option for those who would like to practice sustainability even after they die. However, it is important to note that how humans deal with death is wholly intertwined with their cultural, religious, and personal values.

“I would say as a community member and lecturer who has read and heard a little bit about this, that green burials seem like an excellent alternative with environmental benefits,” Arroyo said. “But they may not fit with people’s religious and cultural values, and they may not suit every circumstance. For example, my own father died far away from home, and his body was cremated due to the low cost and need to transport the remains easily over a long distance.”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

March 19, 2021March 18, 2021

‘Jump, Darling’

The late Cloris Leachman delivers a touching swansong in this small-scale Canadian drama

By Allan Hunter

The late Cloris Leachman remains an inveterate scene stealer in Jump, Darling, a small-scale drama that provides her with a touching swansong. Phil Connell’s compact tale of a young drag queen’s emotional travails finds its heart in the chemistry between Leachman and co-star Thomas Duplessie. LGBTQ festivals should provide some traction for a modest tale that will feel at home on domestic screens.

Every time she appears, Leachman adds an extra zing to the proceedings

Writer/director Connell wastes little time in scene-setting, instead propelling us into the world of aspiring actor Russell (Duplessie) who has found a second wind and a potential new career as Toronto drag queen Fishy Falters.

His commitment to drag provokes a parting of the ways with wealthy, status conscious boyfriend Justin (Andrew Bushell). After a disastrous appearance at Peckers night club, Russell decides to leave town and take temporary sanctuary with his elderly grandmother Margaret (Leachman) in Prince Edward County.

Margaret is all too aware of her frailties and forgetfulness but remains determined to avoid becoming a resident at the local Millbrook Care Home. Russell’s arrival could be the solution to her problem.

Jump, Darling travels along predictable roads as family secrets are revealed, ghosts of the past confronted and separate generations discover the strength to be true to themselves. What makes the journey worthwhile are the performances. Leachman completed two further films before her death earlier this year aged 94. This is her last starring role. She is physically frail but delivers a sardonic one-liner with impeccable comic timing and brings out the poignancy in a spirited, frightened woman whose final wish is to have a good death in her own home. Every time she appears, Leachman adds an extra zing to the proceedings and it feels as if the film belongs to Margaret.

Russell may be trying to figure out his future but there feels less at stake for his character as he dallies with elusive bartender Zacahry (Kwaku Adu-Poku) and brings his drag persona to brighten up local bar Hannah’s Hovel.

Duplessie makes a convincing drag artiste. There is some of the relish of Tim Curry’s Frank n Furter in his Fishy Falters and Connell captures his committed lip-synching performances with dynamic camerawork and sharp editing. The film also features appearances from real life Toronto drag acts Tynomi Banks, Fay Slift and Miss Fiercalicious.

Cinematographer Viktor Cahoj conveys the charms of this wine country corner of rural Canada that are compiled into attractive montages. It is a promising first feature but the characters surrounding Russell are thinly drawn, especially Justin and Zachary. Russell’s exasperated mother Ene (Linda Kash) seems to exist merely to chide and then reconcile.

Connell’s need to keep the narrative forever moving forward comes at a cost. Jump, Darling has a trim running time but a little more complexity or contemplation would have been welcome. The lack of depth in the supporting characters is more apparent when the focus returns to the emotional plight of Margaret in her final days which feels very real and very moving.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

March 17, 2021March 16, 2021

On life, death and dying

Theresa Hamilton plays tic tac toe on a window with a senior in Mt. Cartier Court as the pandemic limited in-person visitors into senior care homes.

By Jocelyn Doll

Theresa Hamilton wants to help people die better.

“I find that I am a magnet to it and I really care and I want to talk to people about sad, happy, absolutely everything,” she said. “When you keep death natural you get to see the beauty in it.”

Hamilton works as the executive director for the Revelstoke Hospice Society and as a death care practitioner, also known as a death doula. She hosts monthly death cafes where people can ask questions and talk freely about dying.

“I want to teach as many people as I possibly can what they have within themselves, and I have seen how, when you do a lot of the work around creating quality of life for people before the end of life, or creating rituals or ceremonies or being able to create a legacy project with somebody before they have died, that always ends up helping the grieving process,” she said.

Hamilton and her partner bought a home in Revelstoke in 2016, but had spent the previous five winters in the city, going back and fourth between here and Grand Bend, Ont.

For five years she worked at the La Baguette at RMR.

“I was immersed in everyone riding and loving the ski hill. I think just being a happy face in people’s daily lives just really kind of launched me (in the community),” she said.

But eventually she felt she had to put her education to use.

Hamilton originally went to university intending to be a social worker. There she discovered thanatology, the scientific study of death and losses.

She also completed Indigenous Studies, which changed her views on dying and made her realize how much she had to unlearn.

“It is a more holistic method than we are used to,” she said.

Hamilton has been volunteering for hospice societies in every town she’s lived in.

“I really admired how small and mighty they were,” she said.

Revelstoke was no different, and with the previous director stepping out, Hamilton was tapped to take over. Though she is now paid by the society, she said she probably volunteers more now than she did before.

Hamilton also helps with Community Connection’s Food Recovery program, the Revelstoke Snowboard club and the Revelstoke Performing Arts Centre, when they are operating in-person.

“I just think that volunteering is your daily vote for democracy,” she said. “I am creating the world that I want to live in.”

Hamilton is also an activist and she supports everyone’s projects.

“Social justice anything is always on my radar because I think we have safety in numbers,” she said.

With all these causes under her belt, she often gets labelled a “Mother Theresa” type, which is something she brushes off.

“I don’t see it as being amazing the way my friends tell me it is amazing, it’s just like, ‘Yeah, but, that’s life,’” she said.

However, the namesake she is happy to claim is her grandmother Theresa, who she never met, but who also did death care work through the Catholic church.

“It’s really nice to know that I am fulfilling my ancestors roll,” Hamilton said.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

March 16, 2021

Breathing new life into dying

— our moral imperative to reckon with the concept of death

A 16th-century drawing by Hand Baldung Grien depicts a German mercenary speaking with Death. As pandemics swept Europe, stories of hungry and vengeful undead grew in German-speaking lands and may be reflected in burial practices.

By Madeline Hsu

Death is ever-present these days; now, one in three Americans personally knows someone who has died of COVID-19. Before the pandemic, we heard about incidences of mass deaths due to illness in the context of far corners of the globe, safely out of reach. We were insulated from death and could afford to ignore it, sweeping it into a corner of our uneasy minds. Now, death is close to home, and the time is right for dealing with the cultural discomfort it engenders.

There are multiple problems with the way we view death as a culture, and the pandemic poses an opportunity to evolve in how we think about death and practice death-related rituals. This unique moment is also an apt time to examine our history and try to understand how exactly we came to be this way.

One pressing concern about our death practices is the deleterious effect on the environment that they have.

“You might be surprised at how much environmental damage a person can do after they’re dead,” Erin Blakemore writes for the Smithsonian Magazine.

The prevalent use of embalming chemicals is of chief concern, as pumping these toxic and carcinogenic chemicals into the environment runs the risk of polluting groundwater and harming the living. While certain groups within the U.S. do not embalm, such as those from Orthodox Jewish communities, a disturbing majority of American burials do.

Many of us are relieved about the promise of a reversal in climate policy after watching with horror for four years as the Trump Administration systematically unraveled hard-won environmental protections and regulations. The administration of President Biden has made a commitment to taking ambitious measures to mitigate climate change. With our new commitment to sustainability as a nation, the time is right to consider the environmental impact of the dead and find new, greener solutions.

There are several ways to do this. Of the sustainable burial practices that have emerged in recent years, several stand out as particularly good alternatives to the status quo. One example is the burial pod developed by Capsula Mundi, which uses a corpse’s process of decay to feed a growing tree. This example presents the comforting and poetic idea of creating natural growth, a concept which could perhaps offset the shock of the transition from the casket-and-embalm procedure.

Composting bodies is a concept that has gained momentum recently.

“Within months, your loved one can become soil for your garden,” Molly Glick writes for the Sierra Club. Once placed in a special cylinder that periodically rotates, a corpse is combined with “a blend of fungi, protozoa, and bacteria to accelerate the breakdown of remains.”

The environmental concern brought up by death goes hand-in-hand with a more ideological and existential concern. We go to great lengths and do harm to the environment to embalm and beautify corpses, giving them luxurious boxes that are sealed and prevent degradation of the body. In this way, we deny death. We refuse death and fight it, but what better time is there than in the midst of COVID-19 to reassess our relationship with death? Perhaps this is an opportunity to deal with its environmental repercussions as well as challenge our deep-seated discomfort and rejection of the fact of death in our lives.

Perhaps a cross-cultural comparison would yield some insights. Many of the inhabitants of our neighbor, Mexico, have historically observed Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), which involves a celebratory rather than funereal attitude and embraces acceptance of death as an undeniable part of the life cycle. Pre-COVID-19, I was fortunate enough to attend a Day of the Dead celebration hosted by the San Francisco Symphony. Marveling at the revelry, I was struck by the positive emotional effect of combining music with costume, color and a sense of joyful spirituality to tackle this taboo topic. Whereas Mexican culture welcomes “spirits” who reunite once a year with the living, our culture fears and abhors the idea of the dead.

The only time we seem to set aside to deal with death as a culture is mainly in jest, at Halloween. We trivialize death and have no meaningful or unifying cultural practice to deal with this most basic and profound of human events, a universal event that touches all lives.

It isn’t completely our fault that we’re so ill equipped to deal with death. We have inherited a discomfort with the topic. It might be worth noting that certain religious views surrounding death help to explain why we’re so steeped in denial. The “life after death” concept crosses cultural and religious boundaries. Like the Egyptian pharaohs, we endeavor to take our worldly possessions with us, including clothing and makeup-enhanced features, as we voyage into the proverbial afterlife in comfy, cushy coffins. This attempt to simulate life-like conditions reflects our pervasive discomfort with the idea of death.

The bottom line is, we have a moral imperative to deal more responsibly with death. It is long overdue and COVID-19 has highlighted this reality. By gaining some comfort with the fact of death and confronting our resistance to dealing with it, perhaps we can gain some confidence about being able to handle the entirety of the life cycle and have some measure of acceptance where before there was only denial.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

March 14, 2021March 13, 2021

How can we grieve our loved ones without our traditions?

By Niamh Delmar

In Ireland, wakes, removals and funerals have been an integral part of our culture. Giving the deceased a ‘good send off ‘ has been a final tribute to those who have passed. Offering our condolences, food and practical help is an inherent part of our culture.

In the past, churches have heaved with mourners and locals gathering to pay their respects. Celebrations of life, humanist services and scattering of ashes have facilitated a communal mourning. Over the years, soup and sandwiches in the pub after, morphed into meals in a hotel.

The rituals of a burial or cremation are an important part of our humanity and the grieving process. As well as handshakes, hugs and pats on the back, mourners meet people who knew the deceased at different times in their lives. Life stories are elaborated on.

The rituals of a burial or cremation are an important part of the grieving process.

The Irish wake has been passed on through generations. It facilitates the dead and the alive to come together. Traditionally a room in the person’s house is prepared, beside a window to let the spirit leave to its eternal journey. Candles are lit at the foot of the person and the corpse is dressed in their best clothes with rosary beads in their hands.

Prayers, tears, laughter, song and drinking all feature in the presence of close family or the whole neighbourhood and friends. Historically, the deceased was kept in the room for three nights with someone always attending it. There was a lead keener who would cry over the body then others would join in and wail. A wake is a mix of sorrow and celebration, but sadly has been curtailed by this pandemic.

COVID-19 has hijacked our customs around death. Rituals, such as kissing the deceased, open caskets, condolence books and even transport to the funeral have all been impacted. Churches that once heaved have now just a few pews filled with masked mourners while everyone else is watching or crying at a screen, lining a road or standing outside. The solace of connection has been taken.

Mary Cunniffe, branch manager with Massey Brothers funeral directors talked with me about the adapting they have experienced over the past year. Supporting employees at this ‘other’ frontline has been a focus as they have been exposed to suffering, while also trying to keep themselves safe from infection. Some have vulnerable people at home living with them.

Mary commented that grief has been compounded by not having had a chance to have said their goodbyes or words that were left unspoken. People have not been able to give the large repose to honour their dead. Another fall-out from restrictions is that people are unable to visit the bereaved, help hold their grief, or help with practicalities.

All of this is part of the grieving process and eases the suffering. Crying on a shoulder, sharing a cup of tea or a drink, recounting stories about the deceased carries those mourning. Landmarks such as death anniversaries, the deceased birthdays and significant dates have passed unmarked. Suffering and loss has traumatised our nation.

Dying during the pandemic with social distancing and other measures goes against our core nature. Grief has been intensified among those who are left to handle the idea of their loved ones dying alone. Holding the hand of a dying person is comforting to both.

It exacerbates grief when those close to the person can’t attend to their needs, get to know the doctors and nurses or advocate for them the same way. The role of human contact in dying and grieving is powerful. Health care workers have borne the additional brunt of this pandemic by witnessing patients dying without the usual presence of loved ones.

End of life
It is time for dying, funerals and grieving to be looked at in different ways and for us to be prepared for the aftershocks of COVID and non-COVID related deaths during this pandemic and its restrictions. Conversations can be initiated to ensure choices are made and wishes observed.

More palliative care at home is of enormous benefit to overstretched hospitals and provides comfort to the dying and their loved ones. Sharon Foley CEO of the Irish Hospice foundation has said that surveys reveal 75% of people would like to die at home but only 25% do.

More personnel, such as Chaplains and end of life carers, are needed in Hospitals and play a significant role at the end of life and also play a supportive role to the medical team.

Hospices provide holistic care and dignity to the patient, and look after the needs of loved ones. More of this type of intervention is needed. Ten million euro was awarded to the voluntary hospice sector recently which helps bolster the loss of fundraising monies.

Studies have shown that simple acts such as sitting, rather than standing, at a patient’s bedside can have a positive impact. Open communication between healthcare workers and families is essential. Gathering information about the patient’s life story, likes and interests can facilitate connection with those who are treating and caring for them.

End of life can be personalised with photos of the person nearby, their favourite music being played and the use of technology for loved ones to be in regular contact. The medical team can have their photos and names on their uniforms to ease the distress of being treated by people in full PPE gear. Hospice professionals assert that hearing is the last thing to go so talking, music and other aural activities can be soothing interventions.

Grieving
While public health is a priority, limited visitation policies and funeral restrictions need be constantly reviewed to provide dignity to those who are nearing the end of life and solace to those grieving. Restrictions compound the process of grieving, increasing the risk of various psychiatric conditions, such as PTSD, depression, anxiety and suicidal ideation.

It also increases the risk of complicated grief or prolonged grief disorder, as not being able to say goodbye to a loved one is a risk factor. It helps if the funeral can be personalised with input from those who can’t attend and a virtual platform can be arranged where people can leave messages, memories, poetry, song and photos in honour of the deceased.

Outlets for children to express emotions can be encouraged. Regular scheduled virtual meet-ups to remember the person’s birthday, anniversary and other landmarks maintains connection. It is never too late to have a memorial, and some people I have spoken with are planning these at a later, safer stage to celebrate the person’s life.

Professionals involved with the bereaved can benefit from training in grief counselling and assessing complicated grief. We all need to be mindful of how we use the word ‘loss’. It has been thrown out there carelessly. While there have been so many losses experienced throughout this pandemic, the loss of a holiday is not at the same level as not being able to be at their loved ones bedside at the end.

Health care workers and the frontline
Counselling is also essential for those who have been at the frontline and exposed to trauma. Compassion fatigue is intensified, without the support of families being present, while a patient is ill or dying. Comforting patients with the barrier of PPE, having difficult conversations and substituting loved ones is a huge emotional responsibility. And moral injury is a systemic problem when frontline workers become frustrated as they are unable to provide care, at the level they were trained, due to constraints.

Significant distress arises when a person has to go against their value system. Psychological PPE is fundamental to protecting the mental health of the frontline. It involves assessment, identification, intervention and monitoring of staff. Debriefings, peer support, support groups, self-care practices have all been found to be beneficial.

Professor Neil Greenberg, Consultant Occupational Psychologist, trauma specialist and Forensic Psychiatrist at King’s College London has called for better identification of vulnerable workers and access to evidence- based treatment. Many others are involved in end of life care such as the funeral sector, clergy, carers and social workers.

There is, and will be collateral damage, but the systems in place within each setting can alleviate adverse symptomatology.

Communities, individuals, society, organisations and policies can interconnect to provide end of life dignity, ways to facilitate after life rituals and identify and support the bereaved. Ar dheis Dé go raibh a n-anamacha.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

March 11, 2021March 10, 2021

“He Thought The Idea Was Hilarious”

— Director Kirsten Johnson On “Killing” Her Father Repeatedly In ‘Dick Johnson Is Dead’

Kirsten Johnson directs a scene with her dad for the new documentary, “Dick Johnson Is Dead.”

By Matthew Carey

The Oscar documentary shortlist abounds with memorable love stories—between a woman and her incarcerated husband in Time, between a man and a mollusk in My Octopus Teacher, and in Dick Johnson Is Dead, between a daughter and her aging father.

Of those three films, Dick Johnson Is Dead qualifies as the most unusual stylistically. Director Kirsten Johnson, faced with her beloved father’s cognitive decline, conceived various outlandish scenarios in which her dad might die, and then filmed them.

“The premise of the movie is that we were going to kill my father over and over again with the help of stunt people until he really died for real. Why? Because we wanted to keep bringing him back to life,” Johnson tells Deadline. “I think we desperately needed to laugh because dementia will rip your heart out and you could just cry for decades if you didn’t find a way to laugh at it.”

In one scene, an air conditioner falls from high above on top over her father, crushing him. In another he takes an awful tumble down a flight of stairs, ending up in a twisted heap. Dick Johnson, a man with a genial disposition, takes part in this filmic experiment with endearing enthusiasm.

“I think cinema is play. And my father is ‘game,’ he’s game to participate in this,” Johnson comments. “He thought the idea was hilarious and it was like, ‘Okay, we’re doing this.’”

Before encroaching dementia prompted his retirement, Dick Johnson worked for decades as a psychiatrist. Perhaps appropriately, the subconscious mind informed the documentary from the start.

“I had this crazy dream where there was this casket and a man sat up—it wasn’t my dad—he said, ‘I’m Dick Johnson and I’m not dead yet,’” the director recalls. “I probably did unconsciously understand that the dementia had begun. I wasn’t consciously aware of it at that moment, but I think in the way that dreams and brains try to tell you things, now when I think about it, it was an unrecognizable man who was my father, which is sort of what the dementia would do. I think in some ways that dream was like, ‘Wake up! Your dad is changing.’”

Johnson had previously gone through the agonizing experience of losing her mother to Alzheimer’s.

“Honestly, I was like so mad to have had my mom already have it. I was like, ‘Are you kidding me?’ I was sort of enraged at the idea of having to face it again,” she confesses. “It just felt like, ‘Let me come up with another plan, another idea, another way,’ this Holy Grail of, ‘Could this be a funny movie? Please?’ We had some fun doing it and we had some tears doing it.”

The Netflix film, a strong contender for an Oscar nomination, premiered last January at the Sundance Film Festival, where it won a special jury award for Innovation in Nonfiction Storytelling. It’s gone on to win multiple honors, including Best Documentary at the Critics’ Choice Documentary Awards, as well as best writing for Johnson and Nels Bangerter and best editing for Bangerter at the IDA Documentary Awards. Dick Johnson Is Dead was named one of the top five documentaries of the year by the National Board of Review and has earned a Producers Guild Award nomination.

On paper, the concept of the film might strike some as morbid. But audiences have responded emotionally to the film’s whimsical and yet somehow frank way of confronting the prospect of a loved one’s demise.

“From my point of view, facing pain—when you can do it with people you love and with the capacity to attempt to build something new out of it, whether it’s a new relationship or whether it is transformed into some form of art—I think that that is the only hope we have,” Johnson observes. “That, in some ways, is how we have survived as people—we sort of offer back out to each other these forms or witness.”

Dick Johnson Is Dead resonates forcefully in a time when Covid-19 has claimed so many lives.

“The pandemic in some ways has opened every human up to the experience of anticipatory grief. We don’t know how much we’re going to lose and we’re afraid of how much we’re going to lose,” Johnson says. “If you love a person with a degenerative disease [like dementia] you have a great deal of experience with anticipatory grief. You’re grieving about what you’ve lost already, what you might lose, what you’re not sure when you’re going to lose.”

That’s particularly difficult to contemplate in Johnson’s case, having a father who’s meant everything to her.

“He has treasured me for the person that I am and allowed me to be sort of as big as I wanted to be…He saw me. I think so many of us struggle with not being seen or not being allowed,” Johnson tells Deadline. “That’s who he is and who he was. Even in the advanced dementia now he’ll call me and say, ‘I just want to make sure you know I love you.’”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!