The why

By Jordan Cleland
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Let’s get to know each other.

People always ask: “Why do you do this work? Isn’t talking about death all day depressing?”. I reply: yes, it is. But it’s also joyful, reverent, and a necessary and inescapable part of being human. That’s the short answer.

Here’s the long answer:
I’ve always been aware that death is an inescapable part of life. Since I was a little kid when my parents casually explained what would happen to us if they died. They spoke candidly about losing pets and how difficult that can be. When relatives died, I was encouraged to be as involved as I was comfortable with. From my early days, death has been treated as the normal, daily occurrence that it is.

The knowledge that death would, one day, come for me too, has guided many of my choices.

“My happiness is measured by how deeply I loved and was loved. It’s measured through hard conversations when things aren’t working. It’s measured through time spent with people who lift me up, who delight in my delight. I follow anything that brings me back to myself.”

I used to stand in my mom's closet, take a deep whiff of her scarves, and feel reassured knowing I could come back to this space for comfort if she were to die. Same for my dad’s cologne. I save voicemails, emails, letters, cards, knowing one day I’ll be sitting on the floor reading letters, remembering these people who I loved so much.

When I was 8, my youngest brother Nigel was born. We soon found out that he has a very rare disability and that he would need constant care and supervision for the rest of his life. And so, from a very young age, I became acquainted with uncertainty. I learned that you gotta play the cards you’re dealt. That life is a wild ride and it could change at any moment. I made friends with not knowing. So much so that the uncertainty and inevitability of death feels like putting on an old sweater. I don't know how, when, where it will happen, so I release control. And I do everything I can, in moment, to feel good, to fill my cup, and to act in alignment with the important stuff.

As I grew up, I examined these death contemplations through a social justice lens. The systems we live in take away people’s agency and influence their decision making in unethical ways. Death is no exception: with our reliance on the funeral industry, our endless drive to distract ourselves and keep moving, and the goalposts of accomplishment that keep moving farther away. So I did my Master’s degree in social work and specialized in gerontology and palliative care, and continued my work with groups of people that are typically underserved. Any social work worth its salt should be intersectional; acknowledge and work against systems of power; and be accessible to those who need it most. It is with this fundamental understanding that I was trained in anti-oppressive, trauma-informed methods and with which I eventually founded Tilde.

After my Master’s degree, I actually pivoted toward construction and started renovating homes. Yes - you read that right! The move into construction was unconventional but the decision was easy after I took stock of my life - and not just the ‘path to success’ I’m supposed to be on. I took stock and realized that this work made me happy. I thought, while learning new skills and using my body every day, “if I happen to die today, I think I would die happy”. Plus, I gained some really badass skills and, not going to lie, I revelled in the confused yet impressed look I got whenever I told people what industry I was in.

Over the years, I used this question to make many life decisions and pivots. If I were to die today (knowing I can die at any time), would I be happy with how I lived my life? In my world, happiness isn’t measured by achievements, or appearances, or milestones — that’s what they want us to believe.

My happiness is measured by how deeply I loved and was loved. It’s measured through hard conversations when things aren’t working. It’s measured through time spent with people who lift me up, who delight in my delight. I follow anything that brings me back to myself.

I hope that, when the day does come, I can go knowing I did my best and that I showed up in the world the way I wanted to. Because at the end of the day, it’ll only be me, myself, and I making the transition from life to death.

This was my lifelong personal contemplation but it became more relevant as I did my Master’s degree and got involved with Kensington Hospice. I started talking about death more openly and it quickly became apparent that many people felt uncomfortable with the topic. So many try to avoid thinking about death and feeling their feelings about it. I was given the honour of hearing stories about deaths that didn’t go well (often due to lack of support), with a few stories about “good deaths” scattered in here and there. How unfair, I thought, that one of the only experiences that every one of us goes through is so often couched in fear, suffering, and anxiety.

Now, there is a death positive movement upon us in North America and so I’m lacing up my boots and being swept in the momentum. I’m here for care that takes into account the whole person. Care that lets people lead and determine their own priorities. Care that is accessible to those who need it most. It’s about time for people to feel more ease, clarity, and agency. It’s about time for us to look death in the eye and say, “if I were to go today, I’m ready”. If you aren’t there yet, give us a call.