Dr. Kathryn Mannix-Listen
Bestselling author of Listen and With The End in Mind, Dr. Mannix has spent her career optimising quality of life as death approaches.
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JA: What inspired you to write about death and dying?
Having worked for 30 years as a palliative care specialist, I found myself increasingly despondent that there was no improvement in the public’s understanding of ‘ordinary dying’ as a bodily process, no matter how often we described it to individual families. I knew that my grandmother, born in 1900 when dying at home was common, had come to understand and not to fear dying by seeing it repeatedly as a young woman. I hoped that by telling the stories of the way people live while they are dying, I could paint the same kinds of enlightening pictures in people’s minds. So rather than seeing myself as a ‘writer,’ I see myself as a storyteller. I’m painting mental pictures for my readers and listeners.
JA: What does death literacy mean to you?
Whilst there’s an academic definition of death literacy, in the real world I think it’s about understanding the process of dying, and how it progresses so that we can prepare in a well-informed way either for our own dying or to support and accompany someone else. That includes understanding the likely phases and stages; having confidence both to recognize what’s normal and also when to call for help and advice because things have gone off-track; knowing what matters most to us (or to the dying person) so that care decisions can be wrapped around honoring those important ideas and values; belonging to a supportive and compassionate community that understands dying as a personal, intimate process and not a medical event; knowing how to get medical backup if needed; and the comfort of seeing dying, death and grief as components of life, to be recognized, supported and held safe.
JA: What is your current state of mind?
I’m at home, warm and relaxed. In a world where there is so much conflict and distress, I feel fortunate.
JA: What is your idea of perfect happiness?
The bliss of perfect happiness is partly because it transcends thought: the moment we begin to examine it, its impermanence becomes apparent and the bliss-state is lost. When am/was I perfectly happy? Meeting our babies for the first time (and many, many subsequent moments with them down the years). Sitting with my husband at the end of the day, just being. Writing, painting, sewing, being ‘in flow’ and unaware of time passing. Watching nature: trees through the seasons, clouds, spring emerging, autumn colours, the colours and shapes and sounds and textures of the water in a river, snow falling against the back-light of a silver sky, rain splattering, sun-speckled forest glades, new buds full of promise. Singing.
JA: What do you believe is life’s most essential lesson?
Peace of mind is precious, and it is a choice. We can’t control events, and sometimes things happen that hurt and distress us. Despite that inescapable truth, we can learn to choose our responses to life’s difficulties. Loss is inevitable: not just the deaths of dear people, but losses like unmet expectations, unrealised dreams, disappointed hopes. Each of these is a bereavement, and to process them fully we first have to accept the reality of our loss. Working through the distress, we can eventually reach a state of tolerable regret that is still compatible with experiencing the joys of life. And that sense of balance, of being able to hold both joy and grief, allows us to find our peace of mind.
JA: Do you have a favorite quote?
I am always drawn back to these lines from RS Thomas’s poem, Soil, about a man labouring to sow seeds in a field and so intent on his task that he sees little else: ‘… only the sky is boundless, and he never looks up.’ It’s a reminder that we notice what we attend to, and we miss what we ignore; it’s an invitation to notice the boundlessness of the beauty and potential all around us, often hidden in plain sight.
JA: What are you reading, what’s on your bedside table?
A lovely part of becoming a writer is that I’m invited to read early proof copies of new books. I’m loving Moral Injuries by Christie Watson and relishing a collection of short stories by Canadian author Gabrielle Roy (1909-1983) beautifully translated from French by Joyce Marshall. And I’m dipping into a wonderful poetry collection by poet and palliative care nurse Mel McAvoy called ‘Wading Into The Light.’
JA: Do you have a favorite writer or book?
I think like many of us, I have a pile of favourite books and a list of favourite writers. It’s hard to even make a short-list. I love the work of Susan Cain, and especially Bittersweet: how sorrow and longing make us whole; the luminous beauty of Julia Baird’s Phosphorescence: on awe, wonder and the things that sustain you; the books I give most often as gifts are Cathy Rentzenbrink’s How to Feel Better (originally published as A Manual for Heartache) and Oliver Sachs’ Gratitude.
JA: What book would you like to be buried with?
What a waste of a book! I’d like everyone at my funeral to be given a copy of Oliver Sachs’ Gratitude and Cathy Rentzenbrink’s How to Feel Better.
JA: What is your exit plan? How would you like to die?
I’m anticipating ‘ordinary dying’ as my likely exit – because that’s what happens to most of us. I think I’ll be most put out to die suddenly, and miss out on a deathbed of my own, after working so hard to illuminate that experience for other people!
JA: If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what would it be?
I can’t decide whether I’d come back as a human, to re-savour the wonderfulness of it all, or whether to be a cat in a kind home. Cats seem to have it all: aloof enough to choose solitude when they please, yet available for adoration when they wish.
JA: If heaven exists, what would you like to hear when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
The murmur of a river between pebbly banks and a breeze through leafy trees, birdsong, the whisper of long grass in a gentle wind, the drowsy buzz of bees in a meadow. Familiar, beloved voices, welcoming me home.
