Parties for the nearly departed
When doctors told Ken Turner he would die in weeks he held a ‘‘living wake’’ to celebrate life. The final festivity is a concept more Kiwis are embracing, finds Jessica Long.
Ken Turner sits in a wooden, wingback chair with a bottle of bourbon listening to his friends pay tribute to his life.
The 52-year-old Porirua man is at his wake but he is living it. He calls it a ‘‘last party’’, a ‘‘living wake’’.
Pain grips him and Turner’s features wear the brunt of the terminal diagnosis given just a few weeks ago. His frame is small and he looks out through yellowing eyes. Tumours have spread into his lungs, stomach, pancreas and liver and he doesn’t expect to survive after October.
Any day past a lifespan of fourweeks would be ‘‘a bonus’’, he said.
‘‘There’s nothing they [doctors] can do, apart from trying to keep me comfortable.’’
But on Sunday he tied his long hair back, donned leathers and asked his friends to surround him with motorbikes – his passion.
At Lower Hutt’s Bellevue Garden Bar a plush blanket sat over Turner’s lap as he listened to the words of his friends.
His ‘‘soulmate’’ Sarah Angus gripped his hand. The pair hoped to marry next year but brought the ceremony forward to September 30, when they will wed at home.
Now Turner’s wedding plans sit alongside funeral arrangements.
However, he said he’s ‘‘lucky’’ to have proper warning to allow for time with his loved ones.
‘‘It’s not like a bike accident ,or just dropping dead of a heart attack. There’s no warning there for people.’’
A living wake surprised him as being a positive way of looking at death, he said. However, emotions weighed heavily on Turner’s final party even though his friends agreed it’s helped them come to terms with the inevitable.
Turner said it was a chance for wha¯ nau, by blood or friendship, to support each other before his death. ‘‘It’s my way of saying goodbye to them ... this way it’s easier to get all my friends and family around me.’’
Despite knowing the end was close Turner’s last party was his ‘‘best day’’.
A couple of weeks ago Turner was working. He’d sunk his savings into the set-up costs of his own construction business when he started to feel unwell.
‘‘I came home from work one day and pretty much collapsed in the front door.’’
He told Angus something was wrong and she rushed him off to a doctor. At first, the doctors thought his liver may have been ‘‘playing up’’ or suggested he may have an ulcer, Turner said.
A week of medication followed but Turner began to feel worse.
Another trip to the doctor was followed by an ultrasound.
The scan picked up a fourcentimetre tumour on Turner’s pancreas, which had stretched to his liver. Blood tests confirmed the diagnosis and a CT scan the following week identified cancer in his lungs. The tumours were inoperable.
A montage of photos circulated on a projector screen at Turner’s final party where his friends shared tears, laughter and stories.
Turner’s a ‘‘wee-bit shy’’, a man of few words, an ‘‘avid motorcyclist’’ and someone ‘‘who’s lived life with a passion’’, they said.
‘‘He’s grabbed life by the throat and strangled it. To me, he has mana. Ken’s a very special person,’’ Evan Still said.
‘‘We’ve had a lot of absolutely amazing times, all centred around two wheels ... I was really looking forward to having a lot more years but I really value the time that we have had.’’
Still said Turner’s ‘‘living wake’’ provided an opportunity for him to say the things he possibly wouldn’t have.
‘‘It starts the grieving process, makes it easier. But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel cheated.
‘‘You feel as though you’ve been given the opportunity to do something that will make a difference for Ken in these last few weeks.’’
He said Turner’s knowledge of his own death allowed him to plan the send-off he wanted. He asked for ‘‘as many bikes as possible’’ at his funeral. ‘‘It’s done.’’
Turner’s best friend, Richard Pugh took the opportunity to reminisce on the moment they met about five years ago.
Pugh needed a flatmate and Turner showed up, he had tattoos and long hair.
‘‘I said, ‘What the?’. The first thing he said was, ‘Do you mind if I bring my guns?’
‘‘I learnt a lesson, don’t judge a book by its cover.’’
Turner’s thoughtfulness toward others was ‘‘admirable’’ and earned him respect, Lee Malaulau said. ‘‘I think a large reflection of that is here, and now, today.
Turner said he would never forget the good times, ‘‘and then some’’ he’d had with everyone.
‘‘Thank you very much. I love you all.’’
Living wakes have become more prominent in New Zealand in the last few years, says Taylored Moments owner Jo Taylor.
Based in Timaru, Taylor said her business helped people coordinate events and parties but she began to cater for living wakes following an inquiry from a friend a few years ago.
She said the concept appeared to be a relatively new one in the country possibly brought about by people with terminal illness who searched for ways to celebrate their lives, rather than wait to die.
‘‘It’s not as crazy or morbid as it sounds. It’s just a celebration of your life, with a twist.
‘‘They are incredibly sad but also I think it’s a privilege. When someone has a terminal illness and they know they’re going to die they want to have a celebration.’’
Taylor wasn’t aware of other ‘‘living wake’’ specialists in the country but was conscious of people hosting private parties.
Events could range from major soirees, to low-key pampered nights in, she said.
‘‘I think now we choose to talk about death a little more and we’re more accepting of it.’’
Taylor said clients felt a ‘‘closeness and closure’’ at the funeral after attending one last party.
‘‘It’s also giving those people a chance to come from overseas.
‘‘Quite often for a funeral they can’t make it in time, if it’s sudden.’’
However, some families and friends still struggled to cope with the idea of hosting such an event.
She said concerns could arise when people became worried they’d offend if their loved one lived longer than doctors anticipated.
‘‘I tell people, in time you will be so grateful to have had that time with that person, to celebrate their life ... and this is what they want.
‘‘You never get to hear the nice things people say about you [at a funeral]. It seems a shame you don’t get to hear that.’’
Across the country groups have formed to join a world-wide trend that brings people together Death Cafe meetings.
There, they talk openly about the enduring taboo topic over coffee, tea and cake.
The idea is to create a welcoming space where people can breach topics around a range of life and death topics.
Taylor said Death Cafes in New Zealand had also shown an interest in the concept of ‘‘living wakes’’.
‘‘People say: ‘I wanted to go around but didn’t know what to say’.
‘‘It gives them that chance. They say all the things they might have wanted to say.’’
There’s usually a lot of tears, she said, but always laughter.