The theme of this year’s Dying Matters Coalition Awareness Week (16 to 22 May) is ‘Why Dying Matters to me’ which is as good as any to get people to address the taboo surrounding death.

I fully support the aims of Dying Matters, a broad coalition headed by the National Council for Palliative Care, to raise awareness of death, dying and bereavement. This shouldn’t come as a huge surprise since My Last Song was established in the belief that more people would address their mortality on line, and use My Last Song to ‘Go out on a high note.’

I take heart in the increasing signs that society is more ready to address the subject of death in a positive way. This, I think, is because people are living longer and therefore most deaths don’t cause the terrible grieving such as Queen Victoria’s reaction to the early passing of her beloved Prince Albert.

So, does the ending of a long and fulfilled life mean that death is easier to address?  Is it also easier to accept given a medical diagnosis of a terminal illness that allows time to come to terms with a life that will end?

For many people the thought of discussing the end of life causes distress, anxiety and embarrassment, and they want to put it off. However, as Dying Matters understands, if you face the subject from a more informed and positive approach, the negatives are reduced.

My Last Song has produced an innovative and holistic ‘Death Plan’ template to encourage discussion about a person’s last days alive so that they have a ‘good death’.  The issues that are covered include medical treatment, physical comfort, emotional and spiritual needs and ways in which stress and fear can be reduced.

The questions are designed to involve the person’s doctor, close family and friends and even professional advisers so that the person whose life is ending has no concerns about issues, such as their will or who looks after their pets, that should have been resolved.

I hope that all those who support Dying Matters and who will use this week to raise awareness will also see the benefits of promoting personalised death plans as a way of reducing the fear of dying and increasing our control over how we end our lives.

It is, I think, quite a common view expressed during the funeral reception that it’s a shame the person whose life is being remembered wasn’t there to enjoy the company of the gathered friends, family, ex-colleagues, neighbours.

Many people have also told me that they imagine what their funeral will be like because of the people who will attend and hear the tributes, listen to the last songs and swap stories and reminiscences.

These are probably the reasons why living funerals are becoming more popular here and in the US.

When speaking to comedian Arthur Smith, by chance a neighbour of mine, about My Last Song, he told me that his brother Richard, a respected doctor, had written a blog supporting the advantages of living funerals, not the least of which is the advanced planning means far flung loved ones can attend whereas they are unlikely to make the funeral at shorter notice.

A living funeral is the logical destination of the wish to have a farewell ceremony that is a celebration of your life, rather than the traditional grief-fest.

And why not have a ‘party of a lifetime’ to celebrate your life with the people whose lives have touched your life. You can thank them, remind them of their importance to you, swap memories and stories, share your achievements and hopes and, not least, be the centre of attention.

As the founder of My Last Song, I would also emphasise the importance of selecting the music that you’ve most enjoyed, and which has special significance.  The same attention should be paid to the food, the drink and the other details that will make this a party that people will never forget.

You should also organise someone to make a video of the party, or at the least take still photographs.  The video and images can then be put in your Lifebox to be accessed by loved ones in future years, so that your memory, and your memorable last party, can be enjoyed many times over.

Clearly you have to take your family with you, and some of the more traditional members might disapprove.  However, the advantages over and above people’s liking of a good party, include the fact that they won’t have to pay for a reception once you’ve died and also reducing the grief they might otherwise feel when faced with your demise.

After all, how much better to look back on someone’s life and remember the warmth and enjoyment of a final celebration than wish they had been able to share this once it’s too late.

Once the grim reaper has called, the party really is over.

Common sentiments expressed a few weeks after someone has died are: ‘I wish I had known…I would have gone to the funeral,’ or ‘If I had known I would have sent my condolences to the family.’

As I point out in an article in My Last Song, some people are understandably hurt and upset that they were not told, thinking they were not important to the person who died or to his or her family.

For others, it intensifies the grief as they were not included in the ceremony or service that said farewell to someone close to them.

This is why you should list those you want to be told of your death or final illness in the ‘Tell These People’ box in the My Details section of your Lifebox. It will enable the person(s) who you allow to open your Lifebox to inform these people quickly and easily.

Of course, your family will know most of the people that were close to you, but it is often the case that when facing the shock of the death, they don’t always think clearly or act straight away and then things – or in this case people – get forgotten.

The Lifebox includes a section called Death Plan which enables you to plan the ending you want. This has a box in which you can name those people you want to be told that you are terminally ill.

You can also create a public profile part of your Lifebox which includes an area called Messages on which your friends and loved ones can put memorial messages when you have departed which others can see.

On Friday evening, like so many previous Friday evenings, I went to my squash club to participate in club night.  As I entered the changing room I said a cheery hello to my friend Alex.  As I opened my locker he came up to me and asked if I had heard what had happened to Everton, a stalwart member of the club and a regular opponent on club nights.

I hadn’t heard…

…on the previous Saturday cycling home from the club, Everton had been killed in a road accident.

It took sometime for this news to sink in.  It was particularly shocking for many reasons.

On that dreadful Saturday I was also at the club. I recalled asking Everton why he was going at lunchtime instead of staying to play on a Saturday afternoon as he often did.

He told me he had to get home to see his daughter, so it quickly dawned on me that I was one of the last people to see Everton alive. What if I had engaged him in a longer conversation…or delayed him to book a game?

And all the time, his image, his voice, his very person invaded my thoughts.  I found it difficult to believe I was not going to see Everton again.

Everton was one of the nicest, most dignified people you could ever wish to meet.  He always had a smile on his face, a witty repost when teased about how seriously he took the game, an eagerness to congratulate an opponent for a good shot that won the point and the ability to enlighten and enliven a changing room conversation on any topic.

He never swore nor said a bad word about anybody.  Although an intelligent man, he seemed to want only to be a good father and a reasonable squash player.

If there was one person who deserved to live a long and happy life, to see his children grow up, to win a few more games of squash, to be loved and respected by those who knew him, it was Everton.

The club is putting on a memorial evening on Wednesday which I and his many friends at the club will attend, and donate money to the charity his widow has chosen.

I cannot fathom why his life should be cut short so cruelly but it upsets me to my very soul. I will attend the funeral, and try to give as much comfort as possible to his widow, children and family, some of whom will be coming from the Caribbean, others from the Midlands…Everton never lost a soft black country accent.

Many members of the squash club will be there too, as they were as devastated at the news as I was, for to know Everton, if only for an hour on the squash court, was to like and respect him.  To know him for much longer was to love him.

Everton’s death is also making me reassess some of  the articles on My Last Song that promote the view that a funeral should be the celebration of the life passed. Well, this view is of funerals of individuals whose lives have run their full course. Looking back on such lives will recall the achievements of the person, the love of their wives, children and grandchildren, the passage from young adulthood to middle age, to older age and then to their natural ending.

But Everton’s life will not be marked this way for it ended  far too soon, and for me and and for those attending, his funeral will be sad almost beyond endurance.